


I Won't Back Down

by Magykal777



Series: Wastelands of Time [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, Books, Death, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, F/M, First Kiss, Human Dolores (Umbrella Academy), Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Canon, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, The Book Thief Narrative Style Sort of, The Book Thief References, Time - Freeform, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 80,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25809703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magykal777/pseuds/Magykal777
Summary: You can stand me up at the gates of hellBut I won't back downI'm gonna stand my groundWon't be turned aroundAnd I'll keep this world from dragging me downIf Liesel Meminger can survive a mini-apocalypse by hiding in her shallow basement then theoretically, Lola Gimbel can survive the end of life on earth in a slightly deeper one.
Relationships: Dolores & Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Dolores/Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Original Character(s), Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Wastelands of Time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972825
Comments: 262
Kudos: 412





	1. 10 Days Until Apocalypse I, 2019

Lola Gimbel was a very peculiar child and it wasn’t because she was one of the forty-three children born on that fateful day in 1989. Instead, she was strange because at the ripe young age of fifteen, she had already started her autobiography. It wasn’t that she was famous and needed her life written down, or that she was planning on dying anytime soon; on the contrary, she planned to live a long and fruitful life.

(One must be careful with what they wish for.)

Instead, her inspiration came from an eleven-year-old girl who’d lived over seventy years ago in a fictional work called _The Book Thief_. Lola admired Liesel’s perseverance and survival skills during war-torn times and the romantic part of her wanted someone like Rudy to stay by her side. This created the urge to pen down her own life story, first by asking her family members about the early years beyond memory until she could rely on her own.

Then, she spent many, many nights hidden in her basement writing by the aid of flickering candlelight. Of course, she didn’t _need_ to use such old-fashioned ways, but the atmosphere helped set the mood and was a replica of how her book-hero wrote. Unfortunately, Lola didn’t think she had anything interesting to write even in the two and a half notebooks and counting. So far, she had:

_My name is Lola Gimbel and I was born August 1, 2004. My family consists of my mother, Diana Gimbel, my father, Edmund Gimbel and my uncle, Edward Gimbel. I go to the local public high school in downtown Toronto, Canada. My father and uncle own a department store downtown called Gimbel’s Brothers. ~~(An original name, I know. Don’t tell them I said that.)~~ This is where I spend most of my free time after school. My mother works long hours as a nurse and apparently, I can’t be trusted enough to stay home alone after burning eggs one morning. _

_I’m getting ahead of myself; I was born in Toronto General Hospital at 9:15 a.m. According to my birth certificate, I weighed five pounds, five ounces. ~~Tiny, I know!~~ My mother was in labor for almost nine hours and when I finally arrived, she named me Delores. I hate my name because it sounds so old fashioned and it means sadness. I’d like to think I was a gift to my parents, ~~but maybe not?~~ and I know they love me, so instead of telling them that, I call myself Lola, which is better. It’s still a derivative of Delores, after all. As for appearances, I have shoulder-length brown hair with mid-length bangs and blue eyes. _

The writing continued on for pages and pages, detailing everything she could- and couldn’t-remember from her life. There was one thing that she did not include, however, as it would give her parents a heart attack: the mansion the next block over, home of the long-forgotten Umbrella Academy, housed the biggest library she’d ever seen, and she stole books from it.

**Three Years Ago**

It had really been a coincidence that she’d taken any interest in the building at all. While it was the biggest thing in the city practically, the old man who lived there was an eccentric recluse who never left the house. And, despite it’s past grandeur, the once-grand entrance had faded with time and memory. Even those who’d grown up in the golden years of The Umbrella Academy had let their passions for the group of crime-fighting children go by the wayside as they grew up, leaving the large house to sit without audience for years on end.

Still, that didn’t stop some interested passers-by from peering in occasionally and Lola was among them. One night, she’d been passing by on her way home from a late-night walk and had travelled by the house on her way home. She’d passed by the house hundreds of times before, but that night she’d _seen_ something. Or, someone. A slightly stooped figure had lingered in the window until they’d sensed they were being watched and had disappeared.

Since then, curiosity had plagued her to go check it out. Maybe, just maybe, she’d have something interesting to add to her life’s story. Her mother would cluck her tongue and say _curiosity killed the cat_ , but her Uncle Edward would wink at her and chime in with _but satisfaction brought it back._ So the next night, Lola didn’t hide in the basement. Instead, she donned all-black clothes and crept to the house.

She’d never broken in anywhere but she had an inventive, quick mind and could almost always come up with a solution. The first-floor windows and doors had been locked and secure but after a few, terrifying minutes of climbing- luckily, the old stone had great places to cling on to- she’d reached the second level. Despite the ache in her fingers from grasping the side of the building, Lola had pressed on, hoping for luck, which arrived in the form of a second-story window being unlocked.

The brunette pushed it open carefully and dropped in, keeping low. A young girl would hardly trigger any alarms, but she wanted to be cautious anyway. The room she’d landed in was dark and with only the faint filter of light from the street lamps, she made her way into the hallway. A part of her hoped to find the figure she’d seen, but the other part- the larger part- hoped she wouldn’t meet anyone.

Despite the age of the house, the floorboards were in excellent condition and made no sound as she walked down the hallway. After trying a few doors to find them all barred, Lola hesitated at the back staircase. She should really stay on the floor with the escape, but something was encouraging her exploration upward, so she climbed.

There, at the end of the hallway, stood two large, double doors. Her anticipation heightened and it took everything in her not to sprint towards them. Instead, Lola continued at the same pace and, with bated breath, tried the handle. To her surprise, the door swung open immediately. The room was dark but her eyes had gotten used to the lack of light by now and she could make out towering, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She gave a squeak of excitement. _Books!_ _Now she could really be like Liesel Meminger!_

Sure, there were libraries, but this was _so much better._ Her feet moved quickly, closing the distance between the door and the books. She ran her hands enthusiastically along the spines of the volumes, unable to read their titles due to the dim light. _Which one should she take first?_

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. _Someone was outside the door._ She wasn’t sure how she knew, but the air suddenly felt… _charged_.

Quickly, she pulled one volume off the shelf and close to her chest. At the same time, a shadow appeared in the open crack of the door.

 _Oh no, oh no, oh no-_ Lola shook her head furiously, clutching the book. Panicking wouldn’t help. The room was dark enough that whoever it was probably hadn’t seen her, so she could still get away. Her eyes darted around the mostly open space.

There was a couch with side tables, a working desk, library nick-nacks and- _aha!_ she thought triumphantly, soundlessly making her way to the window.

The figure in the door entered the room, peering cautiously around before backing out again, closing the door with a sharp _click!_

Lola, from her hiding place in the curtain, let out a relieved breath. She took this as her queue to leave, exiting with her prize out the same window she’d come in. While she was triumphant in her first heist, her mind was whirring. The figure had been obscured by darkness, but the outline had been clearer than when she’d seen them in the window- that, she was sure of- and it seemed like the person _wasn’t_ actually a person at all, but a- _monkey_.

* * *

**9 Days Until Apocalypse I, 2019**

After school hours usually found Lola en route to her father’s department store where she would spend time until closing working on homework or hanging out with the staff that was on break. While the back room wasn’t the most ideal place for studying, she’d become used to the constant comings and goings and the noise that came with the workers.

Now, she was sitting at a table in the cluttered space at the back of the store working on her math homework while the daily news played on a small, old-fashioned TV hung up in the corner of the large room. Three of the staff members, Sam, Eric and Brittany were sitting at the table with her. The first of the workers’ attention was fixed on the small TV while the second two where scrolling through an app on their phones looking as bored as Lola felt as she completed her assignment.

With a loud sigh, she looked up at the trio hopefully, “do you guys want to see a magic trick?”

Brittany rolled her dark eyes, “what, are you gonna pull a quarter from my ear?”

Lola grinned, “nope!” she said cheerfully, shifting slightly in her seat to pull out a deck of cards from the back pocket of her jeans.

Sam huffed, “are you going to do the ‘pick a card, any card?’ schtick?”

“You guys have no faith in me,” the brunette complained, pulling the cards from the container and proceeding to shuffle them, “I’ve been practicing.”

Eric sighed, “fine, I’ll bite. Hold ‘em out.”

Discreetly, the brunette flipped the bottom card of the deck over and then fanned them out to the other teen, careful not to let the different card show, “alright, pick a card, any card,” she said this part sarcastically with an eye roll towards Sam.

The blonde boy reached forward and pulled out the card he wanted.

“Show it to everyone but not me,” she commanded, “make sure you remember it.”

“Aye aye, Cap,” Eric said, flipping the card to reveal his choice.

While he did so, she flipped the deck casually in her hands, feigning nonchalance. She took it back from him, placing it carefully in the middle of the deck, “now, I’m going to find your card without looking.”

Lola hid the deck behind her back, flipping the top card over. At this point, even Brittany had put away her phone to watch. She revealed them again showing a face-up deck and carefully shuffled through the cards to reach the only face-down card.

Flipping it over, she showed the eight of hearts, “is this your card?”

Eric let out a low whistle, “well, I’ll be damned. You _have_ been practicing.”

The dark-haired girl beamed happily, pleased that she’d pulled it off. The first time she’d tried this with her uncle, she’d accidentally revealed the workings of the trick as the deck slipped out of her hands.

“That’s definitely better than a quarter,” Brittany said begrudgingly.

Before anyone else could say something though, the jingle of the breaking news broke through the work room.

_“This just in! Moments ago, police reported the death of the eccentric billionaire, Reginald Hargreeves. More on this story after the break.”_

Sam’s head snapped towards the TV, “Hargreeves- that name sounds familiar.”

“That’s because he ran that Umbrella thing, idiot,” Brittany said with an eye roll, “they were all the rage during the early 2000s. My brother went nuts over them.”

“The Umbrella thing?” Lola questioned, curious.

“Oh yeah,” the older girl said, “there was this group of crime-fighting children that was run by Hargreeves. They became famous after stopping a bank robbery but they went downhill after one of their members went missing. Tommy was heartbroken.”

“Went missing?” Lola asked, “as in kidnapped?”

Brittany shrugged, “no one knows what happened to him. Hargreeves isn’t exactly an open book, either. There were several unsolved documentaries but they flopped since there’s not a ton of information. You can look it up if you wanna to know more. Personally, I was more of a Disney fan.”

“Of course you were,” Sam said in amusement.

The dark-haired girl glared at him, “what’s that supposed to mean, moron?”

The blue-eyed boy shrugged, “just that it’s a girly thing.”

Lola rolled her eyes as Brittany shot something back at the boy, tuning them out as the attention shifted away from her. She made a mental note to research The Umbrella _thing_ , as the other girl had said. Standing, she stretched and made her way into the main area of the store to take a break.

Despite all the time she spent in here, Lola didn’t think she’d ever tire of looking at the constant rotation of styles and colors. Her favorite thing to do was run her hands along the racks, feeling the shifts between soft, scratchy, wooly and a hundred other different cloths.

Her favorite section was the formal wear for the vast amount of sparkly dresses that her father decided to sell. She particularly liked the sequins because of the shine they gave off and the unique texture that passed under her fingertips. While she wouldn’t necessarily consider herself a girly-girl, she did appreciate a nice dress and the occasional accessory, even owning-and wearing- an assortment of hats and dressy items containing her favorite material.

This was the section she made her way over to now, immediately reaching her hand out to touch the slightly-rough, slightly-smooth fabric of a long, strapless dress covered in a layer of silver-and-gold sequins.

She jumped when a gentle, warm hand came to rest on her shoulder, “hey, Sequins.”

Lola rolled her eyes, “Uncle Ed, I thought I told you I hated that nickname?”

Her uncle smiled goofily at her, “what, I can’t call you something that you love?”

She huffed, “it’s dumb.”

“That’s what your mother said when you wanted to go by Lola but you did it anyway.”

“Ouch, I think I need ointment for that burn.”

The man laughed loudly, attracting some stares from other customers. They both ignored it, Lola being used to her uncle’s easy, hearty laughter, “I thought she was going to have a conniption when you told her.”

Lola’s face warmed, “are you ever going to let me live that down?”

He gave her a bright smile, “no way, _Dolores_.”

The brunette gave him a half-irritated, half-playful glare, “please, Uncle Ed.”

* * *

**8 Days Until Apocalypse I, 2019**

That evening before dinner, Lola sat herself down at the computer in her room and typed in the first part of a search inquiry: _The Umbrella_ and then Google helpfully suggested the rest: _Academy_.

Clicking on the first result, her blue eyes widened in shock as an image appeared on the screen. _The building she stole books from almost every night was home to heroes_. Good god, what if she’d been caught? She would be dead for sure. She thanked her lucky stars that she’d only met the slightly-stooped figure a handful of times and had never spoken to anyone.

She scrolled further down to read about The Umbrella Academy.

_On October 1, 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth simultaneously, despite none of them showing any sign of pregnancy until labor began. Seven of the children are adopted by eccentric billionaire Sir Reginald Hargreeves and turned into a superhero team that he calls "The Umbrella Academy." Hargreeves gives the children numbers rather than names, but the public gives them codenames. Spaceboy, Kraken, Rumor, Séance, The Boy and Horror. While putting six of his children to work fighting crime, Reginald keeps the seventh apart from her siblings' activities, as she supposedly demonstrates no powers of her own._

Intrigued, she clicked on a few more links that showed poor-quality pictures of six kids in domino masks and black uniforms after complete missions. Sometimes they’re covered in blood, sometimes they’re not. The group visibly diminishes in number after 2002, a few years before she was born. Then, when they’re in their teens, it shrinks again before all articles about the group cease to exist.

Frowning, Lola then typed in _Reginald Hargreeves_. There are, unsurprisingly, few articles about the man himself. There were a few about his notable achievements including his knighting and entrepreneurship but most involved The Umbrella Academy. There was even audio recording of one of the few interviews he’d done, showing the man standing outside of a bank as he introduced the group to the world.

_“Our world is changing. Has changed. There are some among us gifted with abilities far beyond the ordinary. I have adopted six such children. I give you the inaugural class of The Umbrella Academy!”_

_Abilities beyond the extraordinary?_ Lola thought, _weren’t they just regular crime-fighting children?_ She snorted at that. There was no such thing as _regular_ crime-fighting children. She entered her next search: _Umbrella Academy superpowers_.

Many articles were speculations of the full extent of the powers the children possessed, what-if questions and potential side effects or results of their use. She did learn, though, that the six powers were as followed: super strength, super accuracy, altering reality, ghost summoning, teleportation and time travel and summoning inter-dimensional beings. Lola could barely believe what she was reading. _Children like this existed?_ And here she was, writing down her autobiography like she was someone important!

She shook her head, forcing her jealousy to dissolve. The media tended to sugarcoat everything; these kids probably didn’t have a very fun life if they were constantly on the job. And besides, _of course_ she was important, she had time to do something noteworthy. Still, it felt like she’d entered an alternate universe and couldn’t believe she hadn’t been aware people with super powers even _existed_.

A part of her wanted to stop searching then and there with how muddled her mind was currently feeling but an almost morbid curiosity forced her to continue. As her final search of the night, she typed in _The Boy disappearance._

Here, even less credible evidence popped up and she sifted through what she found until she had enough of a framework for a story. Apparently, he disappeared on November 10th, 2002 and his adoptive father proclaimed him dead. There were several conspiracy theories but nothing concrete, causing her to eventually give up on finding information. There was more to be found on the other siblings, she knew, but her curiosity had been satiated and she had other things to do tonight.

Standing from her desk, she went to her bedside table and opened the drawer, pulling out the two hardcover books she’d hidden in there. Tonight, she’d return them to _The Umbrella Academy’s_ library- _that_ was hard to believe- and get two more. Placing them in her bag, she wondered about the lack of security for such an at-risk family, but she’d seen pictures of Hargreeves; he was old, and despite being incredibly smart, he probably had difficulty with technology like any older person. It wouldn’t matter much now that he was dead, though.

Turning her feet towards the door to head downstairs for dinner, she wondered if the stooped figure she’d seen had been Hargreeves before quickly discarding the thought. While the man had appeared _old_ , he’d always stood straight and proud, never bent with age.

During dinner, she let her parents and uncle talk around her while she puzzled over the mysterious Umbrella Academy. They seemed to have a fairly large fanbase in their youth, but all information on them was practically made up or guessed. Lola had always liked puzzles.

Finally, towards the end of dinner, she broke her silence, “mom?”

Diana turned towards her daughter, pushing back her short, brown hair behind her ear, “yes, Dolores?”

The younger girl winced. Her mother insisted on using her formal name, “do you know anything about The Umbrella Academy?”

Now she had both of her parent’s attention as Edmund cut off the conversation with his brother, “The Umbrella Academy?”

Lola nodded, “the superhero children of Reginald Hargreeves?”

Her mother shook her head, “a bit after my time, dear.”

The brunette girl rolled her eyes, “you’re not _that_ old, Mom.”

Diana shot her a look, “I never said I was old, just that I didn’t know them.”

She grumbled under her breath, crossing her arms and pouting. _She’d only been trying to give a compliment._ Unfortunately, the dark-haired woman leaned over and gave her daughter a firm smack on the back of her head, “don’t grumble, Dolores. You sound like a caveman.”

 _There was just no winning with her._ Thankfully, her Uncle Edmund came to the rescue by changing the subject, “any progress on your autobiography, Sequins?” he asked with an amused twinkle in his hazel eyes.

The brunette sighed and uncrossed her arms, using one of her hands to push her hair away from her face, “I don’t know what’s even the point anymore,” she complained, “especially with super-powered kids who are more interesting than me.”

Her father gave her a fond look, “you’re just as important as they are, don’t think that you’re not. And besides, this Umbrella talk reminds me- one of the children of the Academy published an autobiography a few years back, you might want to take a look at it.”

She shot him a surprised look, “really? Exposing superhero secrets?”

He shrugged, “I’m not sure of the extent of what’s written, but it’s probably worth taking a look, right?”

She chewed her lip in thought for a moment before nodding, “okay, thanks Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first chapter! This plot idea has been in my head for a while and with the resurgence of Number Five fics, I've decided to add to the collection. It will take awhile for him to show up, though, so please bear with me. I didn't want to jump into the main plot right away. 
> 
> I've always thought that it was probably possible for someone to survive the first end of the world and Five even says that he was the last one left alive _as far as he knew_ , so it's entirely possible there were survivors. Also, I really like The Book Thief, so I highly recommend it if you haven't read it yet!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and I'll be back with chapter two soon!


	2. The Last Six Days Until Apocalypse I, 2019

The next few days passed much the same as they always did. School was indeterminable boredom and after was a blur of time. It was nights that Lola really lived for. She wasn’t sure why but the dark, mysterious blackness that covered everything was so much more intriguing than the bright daylight. It helped spur her mind into its most aggressive thinking, it sped her heart up as she made her daily route to the large, unused library, it made her eyes strain to the best of their ability to see outlines in the blackness.

Now, don’t get her wrong- she was a fan of the light. She needed it to write, to see distinctly, but the quiet calm that came with the night was something so few people experienced in a world of billions that it made it more special to her. She didn’t think she’d ever like complete blackness, though.

The dark of night allowed her some cover as she slipped quietly into the Umbrella Academy’s library, her feet soft and quiet on the wooden floor. By now, she knew the layout by heart and made her way easily to the last place she’d taken books from and zipped open her bag carefully, extracting both volumes. While they hadn’t been extremely interesting, she’d liked learning from them as much as all the other books she’d borrowed from the library.

Lola quietly slid out the next two. One was a thick, bound leather book and she could feel the embossed gold on the cover as she slid it gently into her bag. The books on the shelf fell with a muted _thump_ as the space became available and she winced but no one came, as usual. She moved to the next one, which was slimmer and a regular hardcover, its contents remaining a mystery until she could read them in the light.

After zipping her bag back up, she crept back down the stairs and made her way towards her usual escape except- she bumped into a soft-bodied figure and nearly screamed.

“Who-who’s there?” a light, airy voice called out, “are you a ghost?”

Her pulse picked up and Lola’s voice came out in a stutter as she said, “y-yes. O-of course,” then, feeling the need to be more ghost-like, she gave a fake, quiet moan, “wwoooohhh, my spirit is restless,” she sang in whisper.

A hand gently hit her face and brushed up and down as if petting her, “there, there, ghostie. Don’t bother me now.”

She leaned away from the man’s touch and scrambled for what to do next, but then the man seemed to freeze, “why’re you solid, ghost?”

“Uh- I’m special?” she tried, wincing at the lame answer. Luckily, the man seemed accept this and nodded, “okay, well, don’t follow me to bed. I’m open to many things but ghost sex is stretching it,” he gave an exaggerated shudder and stumbled past her, clumsily patting her on the shoulder.

Lola’s face burned bright red and she was glad it was too dark to see. After he left, she hastily made her way to the open window and slipped out, breathing a sigh of relief when her feet landed on the grass. _His kids must have come back for the funeral_ , she thought as she made her way home. He’d spoken about ghosts, so it- it must’ve been _The Séance._

She hoped he wouldn’t tell his siblings what had happened- that wouldn’t bode well for her. Luckily, he hadn’t seen her face and he also hadn’t seemed to be completely _there_ , so he probably wouldn’t remember.

\--

After school on Friday found Lola walking down the main street towards her father’s store. Now that it was the weekend, she didn’t need to be picked up and hurried home from school so she could start her homework. The local bookstore caught her eye and her father’s words echoed in her ears about the Hargreeves’ autobiography.

The bell jingled as she entered the shop and a female assistant made her way to the dark-haired girl to greet her, “good afternoon! Is there anything in particular you need help finding today?”

Lola gave her a smile and nodded, “yes, actually. I’m looking for an autobiography. Its, um, by someone of the last name Hargreeves.”

The woman’s smile flickered for a moment before broadening, “of course, right this way! We’ve moved them towards the back now that they’re not popular sellers. I think we still have a few copies, though.”

Sure enough, in the back of the non-fiction section the name _Hargreeves_ stood out like a sore thumb, at least in Lola’s opinion. The book was titled _Extra-Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven_. The brunette slid a copy off the shelf and turned it over to read the summary on the back. There seemed to be a surprising amount about the woman’s- Vanya’s- family contained in the book.

“Will that be all?” the attendant asked.

She gave a nod, “yes, thank you.”

“Alright, dear, I can check you out at the counter.”

Lola followed the employee back to the front and made her purchase using her saved-up allowance money. Most of it was used for notebooks, writing utensils or additional book-buying so she had enough saved to purchase Vanya’s book. After leaving the shop, she made her way to the local diner, Griddy’s, texting her uncle of her change of plans.

Once there, she sat at the bar where an elderly woman came to greet her, “hello, dear, what can I get for you?”

Lola eyed the treats behind the counter thoughtfully, “classic glazed, please, Agnes,” she added her name after reading the woman’s tag.

“Of course, one moment,” Agnes said cheerfully and turned to complete her order.

She set the doughnut down in front of the girl, “if you need anything else just give a holler.”

Lola nodded in thanks and cracked open her new book, eager to read a professional autobiography. While she had studied some for research it had been awhile since she’d seriously read one.

 _My name is Vanya Hargreeves and this is my story_ it started out and the brunette smiled slightly at the similar openings. Pulling her pencil from behind her ear, she jotted down a note in the margin before continuing.

_We were never a real family. We were our father’s creation, family in name, but not in fact. In the end, after our brother Ben had died, there was really nothing connecting us. We were just strangers living under the same roof, destined to be alone, starved for attention, damaged by our upbringing, and haunted by what might-have-been. We all wanted to be loved by a man incapable of giving love. Our father never missed the opportunity to remind me that I was ordinary, a hard thing for a little girl to hear. If you’re raised to believe that nothing about you is special, if the benchmark is extraordinary, what do you do if you’re not?_

Lola sat at the counter as minutes slipped passed, slowly eating away at her doughnut and reading Vanya’s book, occasionally scribbling between the lines as she wrote notes for herself. As she read, she realized she liked Vanya’s writing style. The woman didn’t write daily stories and chronicle her life as if everything was significant but she also didn’t write the major events like they were items on a grocery list to be ticked off once they were written. Instead, she wrote in a way that made the objective viewer feel as if they were actually _there,_ experiencing Vanya’s life. The brunette supposed that this is why the book lost popularity; some of the moments were too raw, too painful, to want to go back and reread and live through again.

Sometime later, her phone buzzed in her pocket, causing her to jump in surprise. The book lay before her more than half-read, pages wrinkled and dirty from pencil smudges and sugar from her sticky fingers as she’d turned the pages, hardly looking like a newly-bought book. Reaching into her pocket, the girl checked her text which was her uncle wondering where she was. Looking outside in surprise, she realized the sun was setting.

“ _Shit_ ,” she breathed, hurriedly packing up her things. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get too much of an earful.


	3. Monday, April 1, 2019

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that’s where they begin. Their great skill is the capacity to escalate. – Death, The Book Thief

The morning of the first dawned with a bright blue sky and perfect spring temperatures, almost in mocking irony of the fate it would meet later on that same day. Suspecting nothing amiss, Lola began her usual morning routine of getting ready for school. After brushing her teeth, she went to her closet and decided on a pair of jeans, a white, long-sleeved v-necked shirt with black polka-dots and after brushing her hair, hesitated over a choice of hats that she owned. While there was no strict dress code at her school, she did like to make a good first impression on Mondays. The rest of the week was up for grabs.

Coming to a decision, she reached for a yellow hat with a navy-blue ribbon around the crown that was tied in a bow and placed it jauntily on her head. The brunette was somewhat known around school for her unique accessories so she’d only been indecisive over which style she’d wanted, not actually whether or not to wear a hat. She then pulled on a pair of riding-styled boots and picked up her backpack, sliding her deck of cards into the back pocket of her jeans. Lunchtime was usually a boring affair so it was often when she would practice her magic- sometimes with a crowd to entertain.

On her route to school, Lola passed the familiar Umbrella Academy house and wondered what transpired within the walls, remembering the strange man she’d met the previous week. She wondered how long it had been since all of the siblings had seen each other since from Vanya’s book, it hadn’t seemed like they’d lived under the same roof for a long, long time. A smile flickered across her face as she thought of grown-up superheroes attempting to act like real siblings and the interesting, chaotic bickering that might ensue.

(Of course, she had no idea that such arguments might result in the end of life on earth.)

After that, the day passed as it usually did, with millions and billions of people completely unaware of what the night would bring.

\--

Once dinner was over, Lola scraped her plate clean and set it in the dishwasher before turning it on to run, blatantly unaware that this would be the last time she did such a mundane action for a long, long time. Then, she made her way into the family room where her mother, father and uncle were sitting on the couch about to watch TV. Both men had their traditional after-dinner drink of two fingers of whiskey while her mother sipped on spiked hot coffee.

“Mom?” Lola asked.

“Yes, dear?”

“I’m going to the basement now, all of the dinner dishes are cleaned up.”

Her mother’s blue eyes- the ones she’d inherited- flicked to the younger girl, “alright, but don’t stay up too late. It’s a school night, you know.”

Her uncle grinned, “yeah,” he said, breaking to take a sip from his glass, “wouldn’t want you to show up all grumpy for school tomorrow.”

Lola sighed and nodded in acceptance, “alright, I’ll do my best,” she said, knowing it was more than likely she’d lose track of time anyway.

Moving first towards her mother, then father and finally her uncle, she gave them each a goodnight hug and exchanged their daily _I love yous_.

(She would be grateful that these were the last words she’d ever said to her family. At least she wouldn’t have to live wondering if her family had known she’d loved them.)

Then, she went to the basement.

Not even a mile away, the beginnings of an altercation were occurring at the house the size of a single block where the seventh, disregarded member of the family of superheroes was receiving a hostile welcome at the introduction of her new boyfriend, Leonard Peabody.

\--

Lola liked her basement. It wasn’t terribly large but it wasn’t terribly small, either. Half of it was unfinished and the other half was lived-in, creating a perfect balance. In the unfinished side, metal shelves that one might see in a hardware store stood floor-to-ceiling with various tools and stored holiday items. Paint cans, electric machinery, extension cords and other items one would normally find in a shed were scattered haphazardly along the shelves.

In the other half, a carpeted floor of some green color stretched from the back wall to right before Lola’s writing desk. On top of it sat an old, brown-leather couch, a black wooden coffee table from IKEA and a TV hung mounted on the wall. After the carpet ended, removable foam-padded tiles formed the floor. This was the area where Lola’s desk sat which was a large, white table. The desktop itself was almost empty except for her half-filled notebook, three different-sized candles, a pencil sharpener and a pencil holder. Her papers- both for school and other things- were stored in a hand-me-down brown file cabinet that stood to the left of her workspace.

Before sitting down to write, the brunette carried out her ritual warm-up: lighting the candles, flipping to the next available page, sharpening her pencil and placing her reference books on her desk- _The Book Thief_ , of course, and her new book from Vanya Hargreeves _._ Then, she pulled her deck of cards from her back pocket and placed the rectangular box carefully on the lower-left corner of her desk, making sure to match up the corners of the box with the outlined shape created by the corner. She wasn’t sure _why_ she did this, it just was something she absolutely had to do before she finally sat down.

Once finished, Lola made sure to flip the electric lights off and returned to her seat which was a rolly-chair with one broken wheel. She began to write surrounded by her small pool of glowing, flickering light.

 _ ~~Today’s memory is from when I was six~~. (Note to self: find a better opening.) It was my first time at the store for hours on end. Usually, a babysitter would come by and pick me up but I suppose she cancelled. (NtS: get more details. ~~Just kidding, nobody cares about that.~~ ) Anyway, I was super bored and since I was little, I didn’t have any schoolwork to do. I wandered around the store for a bit, probably causing mischief. Anyway ( ~~you already said that, dummy~~ ) the funny part is that I sat down at a group of mannequins because there weren’t any other seats and I must’ve sat so still that everyone thought I _was _one because when I finally stood up, a woman screamed. I didn’t know why at the time but it happened again when I was older. Then I started doing it for my own amusement. It was funny to see people think that I was a fake, plastic doll only to realize I was actually real. Sometimes, I even went to the back and dressed in clothes that would soon be modeled by the mannequins- although I think the effect was ruined because I didn’t fit them._

\--

A story up and a block over, the altercation had grown to a full-blown verbal assault, the main four members of the family heatedly questioning the new boyfriend’s insistence on them coming to their sister’s concert. The seventh member, feeling hurt and angry that her family wouldn’t, just _once_ support her, felt the tension build up within her, her emotions unusually high from the lack of medication she’d consistently taken for years until this week.

\--

_The spot was also great for people-watching. While Gimbel Brothers has mostly ordinary clients, there are some cases that are more noteworthy (NtS: fix wording, sounds awkward). There are many people who bring children to the store as well. On Mondays, there is an average of twelve children, usually after school. The number varies throughout the week until Saturday where there are usually fifteen or twenty. One time, as an outlier during the holidays, there were twenty-five. I know this because I counted them. I don’t usually do it intentionally and I’m sure I miss some customers but for some reason, all the numbers stick in my head. The funny thing is, I’m terrible at math. I’m also really good at cards, though. I’ve never lost a game of War or Go Fish. My uncle says I’m a counter, which I suppose is true. I’ve also counted all the sequins on one of our formal dresses, just for fun. There were two-hundred and eighty-six._

\--

As the sky grew dark outside, the argument in the large house had reached an all-time high with Leonard Peabody outwardly insulting his girlfriend’s largest brother, inciting his anger and riling him up purposefully, causing him to throw the first punch. The seventh member of the family desperately tried to pull her boyfriend away, to save him from an assault that he would surely not survive. She was right about that, but there was nothing she could do. There was only one person Number One listened to and it wasn’t _her_.

\--

_~~Anyway,~~ back to people-watching. There was once a rich woman who came to our store. No one could figure out why; we’re not exactly the high-end type. She brought her daughter with her, a pretty, blonde girl with bright blue eyes. Almost like mine, I think, but they looked better on her. I heard her tell Brittany that she wanted to get her granddaughter ‘normal clothes,’ except she said it like an insult. I figure that when her granddaughter came to visit, all she provided were expensive outfits and the girl spilled on them, teaching her the lesson of buying cheaper clothes for little kids. She didn’t say all of that but I made up the story to go along with her request. _

\--

Standing over Leonard’s body, the seventh member of the Hargeeves turned on her brother, eyes shining white against her pale face. In his hand, he held a bloody, glass eyeball. Her siblings crowded together, trying to calm her, but she spent all of her life being calm and she was _tired_ of it. Turning her gaze to the academy, the building shook under a ten-point-zero earthquake, the bricks and concrete falling down in rapid succession. Tearing her gaze away from the sight of her childhood hell, she let sound waves resonate through the street, knocking over buildings and causing them to collapse, burying her siblings in rubble. Carelessly, she walked away as anger, sadness and hatred fueled her steps to her apartment where she changed and gathered up her violin for the world’s last performance.

\--

_She was very posh too, with fur and everything. She stood still long enough that I could study her coat, which had thirty spots. I’m not sure if it was real fur ~~(if it was, she’s a horrible person),~~ but she certainly acted very high-class, even speaking a little nasally and tilting her head up to look down on Brittany. I think it might’ve been because of Brittany’s skin color. The woman didn’t seem to be very accepting of hard-working people that looked different from her._

\--

At ten o’clock pm, the close of the concert, sound waves so large they felled the building and many blocks over swept through the city. A short, dark-haired woman with a glowing white light in the center of her chest rose above the destruction, sending out pulses of sound to the far-reaching corners of the world. With no one to stop her, no one to shoot a gun next to her ear, the bottled power exploded from her chest sharing with everyone the feelings of hurt and neglect that she’d been forced to endure throughout her childhood. One person alone survived in a basement not much deeper than the fictional character’s she admired, writing away and completely unaware that the world above had changed beyond recognition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! We've finally reached the first apocalypse. Since we don't know exactly what happened, I did my own take on it. This chapter didn't have a lot of dialogue but to make up for it, Five comes in the next one! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and feel free to let me know what you think :)


	4. Waking Up to Ash and Dust

Lola didn’t know what woke her but she groaned and opened her eyes, lifting her head from where her cheek stuck to the page she’d been writing on before she’d fallen asleep. The basement was pitch-black, her candles having been burned out while she’d been resting. Unbothered, the brunette stood, stretched, and made her way to the wall where she knew the light switch was. After patting the guessed area, her hand hit on the dimmer and flicked it up. Nothing happened.

She moved it up and down several more times and the room remained completely dark. Frowning in confusion, Lola guessed that they’d lost power during the night for some reason. With no windows in the basement, it was impossible to tell what time it was or if a weather event had happened. Shrugging, she stepped twice to the right and placed her hand on the banister to guide her steps up the stairs. Only- she hit her head even halfway up.

” _Ouch_!” the girl yelped, rubbing the sore spot on her head. _What the hell? The ceiling was never this low before!_ There were fifteen steps from the door to the bottom of the basement. Lola had only gone up ten.

She pushed on the supposed ceiling tentatively. No movement, “hey, guys? Mom? Dad?” she called, hoping someone would hear.

There was no way the ceiling was caved in, right? How would that even be possible? Maybe her uncle was pulling a prank on her and had stuffed obstacles down the stairs so she couldn’t come up.

“Uncle Ed? You’re really very funny! Haha!” she tried, hoping it would convince him to help move the stuff.

Then, something shifted and movement by her feet made her jump, causing her to yelp. _There’s no mice down here, idiot_. Her mother would never allow that, so what had fallen by her foot?

Still in pitch-blackness, Lola made her way back down the stairs until the was on the last one. Gripping the banister carefully, she moved her foot into the empty space below the final step until she hit what had fallen. Bending over, she was surprised by the weight of the item.

Lola moved the object between her hands, feeling the roughness and shape of it. It wasn’t any sort of object used for a prank, she determined. _It felt like a part of her house_. But how could that be right?

 _Stay calm, Lola,_ she told herself, _there’s a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe mom decided to renovate the upstairs, started this morning, and forgot you were down here?_ That seemed a little far-fetched. What about school? Her mother always checked the basement if Lola wasn’t in her room and it had to be around the time she had to get ready.

Dropping the loose object, the girl made her way back up until her head brushed the blockage again, “MOM? DAD?” she yelled again, straining her ears for an answer.

 _What the hell happened last night_? Or early this morning, she supposed. She called for her parents several more times, all of which went without response. Turning, she sat down on the seventh step and buried her face in her hands, the sudden coverage of her eyes making no difference with the black of the room.

 _Okay,_ she thought _, you know the basement. What could you use to help you?_

There were drills and electrical cords so she could drill herself out but she’d never used the tools before, her mom would go nuts and there seemed to be no power. She had candles, so she could burn her way through but if it was mostly cement on top of her that wouldn’t help. Paint was useless and so were light bulbs. She doubted there was something useful in the holiday section. _Did they have a pick axe? Those couldn’t be so hard to use. Or maybe an anvil and a hammer._

That would take longer but didn’t require electricity and her mom might be more okay with that.

 _What if it caves in on you, though?_ she considered, biting her lip as she tried to puzzle around it, _what did people use to prevent cave-ins?_ Some type of support, she supposed. Did they store plywood in the basement? Was that even strong enough?

 _Stay calm, Lola, you can do this_. And besides, she was jumping ahead of herself. Surely her parents would notice and dig her out? Maybe there wasn’t even that much blockage and it just _seemed_ like a lot. It probably just _was_ a rotten prank her Uncle Ed had cooked up but she couldn’t see her mother being okay with her being late for school because of it. Still, she didn’t want to jump to conclusions so she stood and made her way back up the stairs, calling as loudly as she could, “ _MOM? DAD? UNCLE ED?”_

\--

There was no telling how much time had passed but no answer came as Lola’s voice tired out. After her 839th call, she gave a final cough, turned, and sat down, bending her head slightly to accommodate the small space. _What now_?

Surely it was past school’s starting time. Her uncle and father would be at the store and her mother would be at the library starting her shift. Lola sighed and strained her eyes into the blackness, hoping it would reveal an answer of what happened. It didn’t, of course, but she wasn’t sure what else to do. _Maybe her voice wasn’t loud enough?_ The thought suddenly occurred to her and part of her favorite, well-memorized story came back to her: _Liesel hit the lid of a paint can_. Maybe _her_ paint cans weren’t as useless as she thought.

After sliding down the stairs feet first and lowering herself carefully by her hands, she stood and made her first step to the left. Suddenly, she was _very_ glad she was a counter. There were exactly twenty-seven and a half steps to the paint section of the shelves from the bottom of the stairs. Carefully counting them out, she arrived in the correct place and took the top paint can after feeling around for the handle. Then, with another fifteen steps, she made her way to the hand-held tools and felt along the second shelf for a hammer, pleased when her hand grasped the worn, wooden handle.

Turning, Lola counted the total forty-two and a half steps back to the stairs and went up _again_ to the blockage. Placing the paint can on the last available step, she swung the hammer down, _hard_ , on the lid. It let out a resounding _clang_ which was loud in the dark stillness and made her flinch in surprise. Shaking off her prickle of fear, she repeated the action several more times.

\--

The girl jumped when something slightly wet splashed on her and she gingerly felt the spot where it landed on her shirt. _Oops_.

The lid had dented after so many hits and now it had finally given, the most recent contact had splashed the sent the wet paint flying. She swallowed nervously. _How many paint cans did they have? How long would she be stuck here?_ Clearly, no one was coming to help. Lola supposed she should have waited until her parents would actually be _home_ but the thought hadn’t occurred to her until now. Besides, who knew how long it had been?

The thought made her shudder slightly, the idea of _days_ passing without being released not sitting well with her. She loved the basement but even _she_ didn’t want to live out the rest of her days here. _I need light_ , Lola thought, slightly frantically.

She shook herself and took a deep breath. As well as she knew the space, losing count of the steps wouldn’t help her. She descended the stairs again and stepped left, this time counting out eleven steps. Her hands found the candles and matches blindly, relieved when she felt that there were twenty-five in all. _She would still conserve the light, though_. _Just in case_.

Lola repeated her path in reverse and sat on the third step, carefully holding one slim, long candle between her legs as she prepared the lighter. There was a spark and the match caught, causing her to quickly set it to the wick and shake it out, relieved to keep some of the darkness at bay. Holding the light aloft, the brunette stood from the stairs and in twenty-one steps she reached the far wall where a wine cellar of sorts stood embedded into the cement. The space was tiny and hand-dug, extremely cold in the winter and less so in the summer but was an additional food storage area for long-term items. They didn’t usually keep it very full but there were several packages of canned drinks, two tubs of ice cream, some frozen dinners and a case of water.

The girl now took stock of the items, checking that each one she _thought_ was in there actually was and was reassured that she would be able to survive down here for some time, if it came to that. She hoped not. Lola had zero practiced survival skills and what she knew only came from books like _Hatchet_ which wouldn’t truly help her here.

She wasn’t an idiot; rationing her food should start immediately and she needed to go as long as possible without eating or drinking to make it last longer. Going to the bathroom would be a challenge, but she’d dedicate a spot and hope for the best.

 _Stop it, idiot,_ Lola thought suddenly, _you’re acting like you’re stuck down here. You probably aren’t._

Still, she couldn’t help but think _what if she was_? At least the couch could act as her bed and the rest of the time would be spent trying to free herself.

She sighed and exited the food storeroom, _at least you don’t have to worry about homework right now_. _Your teachers will understand if you miss because you’re trapped in a basement_. _Hopefully_.

 _Okay_ , she thought, _if worst comes to worst, you’re pretty well off. There’s definitely no need to panic. Nope, none at all. Think: what would Liesel do? WWLD? She wouldn’t panic- well, she did at the sight of her dead-_

STOP _. Don’t think like that. The point is, she didn’t panic when she was trapped in her basement. People came to help. The same will happen for you. You’ve always wanted to be like her, remember? Now’s your chance._

“At least this will make for an interesting section in my autobiography,” Lola commented aloud and instantly shook her head, _stop it, talking to yourself is a sure sign of insanity._ It had only been a few hours at most, probably eight.

The uncertainty of exactly how many made her shudder slightly.

\--

The next day- or what she assumed was the next day- she tried the same routine, calling her parents’ and uncle’s names for as long as she could before her voice gave and then resorting to banging on a paint can until it, too, gave. Lola used some of her light to count exactly how many paint cans she had, which were fifteen. _A little over two weeks and she’d used two already_.

They could help her keep track of the estimated days. To keep herself busy, she also partitioned out her food into servings so she wouldn’t eat a lot at once, even if she was really hungry. Her stomach was already starting to growl but she pushed through knowing it _could_ get worse.

Another obstacle she realized she had was that there was no running water, not that the basement had a sink. There was no way to keep her hands clean or wash herself and she cringed at the thought of becoming disgustingly dirty.

\--

The next guessed day came and Lola was entertaining the idea that something had gone _very, very_ wrong outside. She’d sat for several hours next to the cave-in and heard _nothing_. She allowed that the pile on top of her was too thick to let sound through but it seemed that she’d hear police sirens or something as they swarmed over the collapsed house.

The thought made her heart twist in her chest. _What about her parents? Were they hurt?_ The only explanation that there could _be_ was the house collapsed, but surely they hadn’t been inside when it happened? They were probably worried out of their minds right now about her. Lola wished she could send them a message that she was okay.

An idea had crossed her mind that she could tap out an SOS out on her paint can lid but she didn’t know Morse code and had tossed the idea aside. The brunette was glad that she had rather weak olfactory senses and couldn’t easily smell herself but she was sure that after three days of not showering, she _must_ stink.

 _You stink to high heaven!_ her mother would say. Lola had never missed her as much as she did right now and she wished she could have been more understanding about her mother’s reasoning for things. _The next time she gives me chores or scolds me, I won’t ever complain again._

\--

Two more days passed without much change. Lola still lived in darkness most of the time, worried about running out of light. It was surprisingly easy to stick to food rations. She’d never been a big eater but she wasn’t a small eater either. She chalked it up to the fact that she could count each serving.

Her first time going to the bathroom without a toilet had been awkward and messy but luckily they _did_ store toilet paper and trash bags on the lower part of one of the shelves so at least she could clean up. The couch was a fine sleeping place and only creaked a little when she shifted around.

After spending her obligatory hours trying to get help, Lola would then shuffle, shuffle, shuffle her cards, over and over again to keep the panic at bay, the action familiar and comforting. In the dark, she would try magic tricks which proved to be difficult as she couldn’t see the result. Then, she returned to counting all fifty-two of the cards, reassuring herself that they were all there. Her writing fell by the wayside as she focused on keeping herself calm and _definitely not panicking_.

\--

After approximately one week, Lola was starting to feel the affects of being stuck in the dark for so long. Sleep had become more difficult and she instead lay awake for hours, staring into nothing as she lay on her side on the couch, the cushions pressed against her back. It was easier to operate without light now, too. She still counted her steps whenever she moved around but her ears seemed sharper- the ringing of the paint can lid proved that- her touch seemed more sensitive and it seemed like her smell had improved, too, because she was _definitely_ stinking.

Lola wished she had a change of clothes at least, but she was out of luck. The only possibility of new cloth was Christmas tree skirts and that wouldn’t help her since she didn’t have needle and thread- not that she was even a fashion designer, but she could have figured something out.

Sometimes, when she stared at nothing for long periods of time, bright spots would enter her vision or strange, geometric shapes would pop up. Then, she would blink and they would disappear. The thought of _seeing_ things terrified her and Lola made an effort to keep her eyes physically closed instead of just peering into the darkness.

\--

By the beginning of the second week, sleep had suddenly come back. Lola thought she was just closing her eyes in short spurts but in reality, they were closed for many hours. The paint cans helped keep her from misjudging how many days she’d spent in isolation and the food rations did too, slightly.

The panic that had threatened to overwhelm her had ebbed, only poking at the back of her mind every so often. Lola could feel that her body had become weaker, too, even though she spent many hours pacing the edge of the space, counting out all 900 steps. It was clear that no one was coming to help her but she couldn’t bring herself to stop hoping. Even as she lost everything else, something told her to press forward and keep believing someone would come.

She’d been speaking to herself more and more too, to cover up the awful silence that persisted in the darkness. She’d often just recite parts of her autobiography, sang song lyrics she'd memorized or she’d spend several hours reciting _The Book Thief_ as a way to help calm her as her panic increased. One time, in her rotations, she’d turned on the third corner and had stopped for a moment, eyes wide, as what looked like a monkey on a unicycle juggled in front of her, complete with flashing circus lights and music.

Lola’s mouth had dropped open and she’d let out a crazy, slightly maniacal laugh before she rubbed at her eyes furiously in disbelief. The darkness had promptly returned, leaving her to shiver fearfully on the spot.

\--

On the twelfth day, according to her paint cans- not that she _actually_ knew for sure anymore- something changed. Lola hadn’t been expecting it, of course, and had gone on with her usual routine. Then, in one of her circuits of the basement, she _heard_ something, out of the ordinary from the sounds she was used to- not that there were many. Her pulse picked up. _Was someone trying to kill her?_

“No, stupid,” she said aloud, her voice raw and hoarse from the hours she spent yelling, “you’re dumb. There’s no one alive. I think we’re alone now.”

The words didn’t make sense but then nothing much did these days. _When had she started speaking in plural?_ Still, the shifting continued.

Creeping slowly up the staircase, the brunette paused next to her already set-up paint can. It certainly sounded like _someone_ was out there. The girl looked down the dark staircase, thinking about her remaining food and liquid supply which was now rapidly dwindling, her shrinking amount of candles, paint cans and matches, her wrinkled, used deck of cards and came to a decision.

At first, her banging went unnoticed on the surface until the shifting stilled above her.

“Hello?” the sound was faint and muffled, clearly she was hearing things.

Lola continued her banging, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t.

The shifting resumed but it seemed more purposeful now. The sound came again, “hello? Is anyone there?”

 _Bang, bang, bang_ came the answer, the brunette continuously hitting the lid. A chink of brilliant light appeared above her head, making her shut her eyes in pain.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” it was definitely a voice, a young one, too.

Then, the hole opened wider, wider, and wider until bright light came pouring into the dark space. Turning up her face but closing her eyes, Lola tried to look up at who had come for her. _Maybe she was dead and the light was from heaven._

The answer was the exact opposite as the voice spoke again, this time disbelief clear in the tone, “what the _hell_?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have gotten to the beginning of the apocalypse section! Next chapter will be Five's POV so you'll get more of his input. 
> 
> I tried to keep it realistic in terms of the actual affects of staying in isolated darkness for a long period of time and even did some research on it. Apparently, you loose a sense of time and people have reported seeing hallucinations, hence the bright spots and juggling monkey. It was kind of creepy to read. 
> 
> The chapter title is taken from the song _Radioactive_.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and stay tuned for the next chapter! :)


	5. The Road to Hell...

Five Hargreeves has never claimed to be a people person. Even growing up surrounded by six other kids, he preferred to lock himself in his room and work on equations than actually _interact_ with them aside from what was mandatory. That didn’t mean he didn’t care for them- because he did, at least where Six and Seven were concerned- he just liked his space and it was in this space that he discovered his potential for time travel.

When he’d first broached the subject with his father he’d been promptly shut down leading to one of their many quarrels and another punishment. That was not enough- never enough- to deter him from pursuing something on his own, though. He was smart enough to figure it out without help. The boy also made sure word of it never got out to his siblings; most wouldn’t care and think that he was just rubbing it in like the cocky way he usually did but Six would give him worried, warning glances and Seven would try to talk him out of it in her own shy, quiet way.

It was best to keep this to himself.

He’d been practicing his special jumps for years now and had advanced in leaps and bounds- literally. While he was still limited to short distances he could do more at once than he ever had before and they were pin-point accurate (he _could_ actually land on the head of a pin if he felt like doing something so ridiculous. He didn’t.) Time travel was just another aspect of his powers, as linear as his jumps were and as straight forward as any equation usually was for him. He’d done the math and it _was_ ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent possible that he would be successful; the point-oh-one was an unnecessary margin of error that he allowed himself just in case. Every mathematician had their occasional inaccuracies.

Five had made sure to repeat the equations over and over, too, to double and triple check his work. Now, he felt ready to present the subject again and have evidence that it could be done. Distantly, he heard the robotic woman they called _mother_ ring the bell, a tradition that signaled their meal was ready. Setting down his chalk, the boy left the room and met his siblings at the stairs, completely silent apart from their footsteps approaching the table. The recording their father liked to listen to, Herr Carlson, was already playing as they stood by their seats waiting for the man himself to arrive.

They sat in number order beginning with Reginald’s seat, with Number One being on the left, Two on the right and so on until the last three; Five was on the left, Six was across from him and Seven at the head.

“Sit!” their father barked and the children followed the command without delay, pulling out their chairs almost in sync as they sat down.

Now that the speaking part of the meal was over, they turned their attention to the various tasks that they did at the table while eating, the recording continuously playing over the sounds of their activities. Five clenched his teeth slightly at the irritating repetitiveness of it all and stared down the table at the man he called his father, watching him take a drink from his cup.

Knowing he wouldn’t get the man’s attention if he tried talking, the boy gripped the handle of his knife and stabbed it directly into the table.

“Number Five?”

“I have a question,” he said coolly.

“Knowledge is an admirable goal, but you know the rules. No talking during meal times,” Reginald answered, not even sparing a glance up from his plate, “you are interrupting Herr Carlson.”

Irritation prickled along his spine and the boy dropped the utensil roughly against his plate, “I _want_ to time travel.”

“No.”

“But I’m ready,” he responded flatly, “I’ve been practicing my special jumps, just like you said,” he stood and demonstrated, feeling a flicker of pride when he landed right by the man’s elbow.

“See?”

“A special jump is trivial compared to the unknowns of time travel,” he answered, not deigning to look at him, “one is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of the freezing water and reappearing as an acorn.”

Five forced himself not to snarl at his father’s terrible explanation. _He really hated riddles_. Instead, he let out a sharp breath, “well, I don’t get it.”

“Hence the reason you’re not ready,” the man said, as if that was all the answer that was needed. He took another sip from his glass.

Five accidentally looked down the table to where Six and Seven sat, knowing that this would be a surprise to them. He rolled his eyes internally at Seven’s predictable reaction as she shook her head at him, looking slightly fearful. He turned back to his father, “I’m not afraid.”

“Fear isn’t the issue. The effects it might have on your body, even on your mind are far too unpredictable,” he threw his own utensils down and finally looked at the boy, “now, I _forbid_ you to talk about this anymore.”

The boy’s lips curled into a sneer at the thought of someone trying to _control_ his powers when who knew them better than him? Reginald may be their mentor but what did he know about the extent of their abilities? He turned on his heel and stalked away, ignoring his father’s shouts. He picked up speed as he left the dining room, running, running, running out the door, on to the street.

The fresh air hit his face, spurring him on after the drafty, stale air of the place he called home. Preparing himself for the first jump, he mentally checked his calculations and tore a hole through time.

Around him, the scene changed. The darkness of the evening was replaced by bright sunlight showing a warm, sunny spring. He scoffed, “not ready my ass.”

Fueled by his success, he jumped again, his heart leaping as the scene changed to winter, the previously open buildings changing as they lost business. Adrenaline pumped through him and he wondered exactly _how_ far into the future he could go. What would he see? Predictions from Six’s science fiction books were unlikely but he could still come back and tell his brother all about the future.

He leapt again, blue light shining around him as he created his third portal. The boy suddenly stilled, watching as the familiar sights around him turned to ash and dust, rubble and burning fires stretching as far as the eye could see.

Something akin to terror rose within him. _This wasn’t right_. How could it be when the world had been so vibrant around him seconds before?

He forced his legs to move, running along the dirt path that stretched on for miles. The sky was a dark, ashy gray that gave away neither time nor date and the falling particles burned his lungs when he breathed causing his breath to shorten rapidly and gasp in his chest.

Five froze outside the familiar building, all grandeur now rubble and fire as he stared up at what was once his home. _No. What about his siblings? His family?_

“Vanya!” he cried out, forcing himself to be heard over the crackling fire, “Ben! Dad! Anyone!”

No answer came in the nearly silent world despite him looking around wildly for someone, _anyone_ living. _He could go back_. The answer came to him suddenly on its own accord and hope surged in his chest as he forced his hands into fists, blue shining around them. He pushed against the fabric of time, trying to calculate a way out. _Nothing._

“Come on!” he pleaded, _he didn’t want to be stuck in this burning hell._

“ _Shit,_ ” was his next word as his powers failed, sucking away the sudden hope.

His hands dropped and he stared around at the landscape, as desolate as he felt. _How was he going to get back?_ He dropped to his knees in front of the remains of his home- a home that had been whole and filled with life minutes before.

\--

Five wasn’t sure how long it had been when he forced himself to pull away. Night would be coming soon and there were other survival things that needed to be done. _How had their father known how to prepare them for this?_

The thought crossed his mind as he stood, eyes catching sight of a still-standing newspaper holder. He ran over to it and opened the broken glass front, pulling out one of the papers. _April 1, 2019_ read the date, the headline was one that would be burned into his memory even after years of living in the apocalypse.

Then, he saw the first bodies lying in the rubble. The hand of a man was sticking out of a pile, clearly clutching at something. Five ran over to it and pried the glass orb out of the stiff, cold fingers. He wiped off the red, wet residue on the face of it, revealing a dark brown iris. _It was a glass eye._

Still holding it, he followed the arm to a blonde-haired man with a cut next to his eye. Something niggled at the back of his head but he pushed it away. _No, it couldn’t be. His siblings were still alive. Of course they were._

He ran to the next pile where a dark-haired man and dark-skinned woman were covered in rubble- both with their eyes closed and covered thickly in the falling ash. His feet skittered in the loose blocks but he made his way towards them, placing his hands on their shoulders and shaking them roughly. _Please,_ he thought desperately, _please be alive. Just be asleep._

It was a foolish, naïve thought but he couldn’t push it away.

Farther on, another man with a fur-trimmed coat was lying facedown in the rubble, eyes closed just like the others. Five’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the damning tattoo on the man’s arm: _an umbrella inscribed in a circle. The same one all of the Hargreeves children had, except Seven_.

There was too much evidence to deny the terrible conclusion that formed in his mind.

\--

Five forced the prickling tears at the back of his eyes away. He’d never been a crier; Reginald had beat that out of them at an early age. Still, he hadn’t even _recognized_ his siblings until he’d seen the tattoos that bound them together. Then, he’d added rocks on top of their partially-buried bodies as a makeshift grave. That had been when he’d _almost_ cried, when the last possible sighting of his siblings’ faces had finally been covered. They weren’t _really_ his siblings, though, because he didn’t know them in this timeline. He knew their fifteen-year-old versions, back in 2004. This shouldn’t matter to him.

(It did.)

The boy tilted his head up and stared into the dark sky until his eyes burned for a different reason. Water was going to become a precious commodity; he shouldn’t waste what hydration he had on _crying_.

Again, he pulled himself away, telling himself it was useless to linger over the dead. He couldn’t help _those_ siblings. (But oh, how he wanted to.) They were somebody else’s family. _His_ were still alive in 2004, blissfully unaware of the fate that awaited them. There was still something he could do about that.

Five turned and walked away, steeling himself to face this strange, new hell.

\--

He wasn’t sure what was worse. The dusty, dark days or darker nights. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. There was no sound except for howling wind, the crackling of fire and the creak of the wagon which was piled with necessary items like food cans and a supply of water that he’d found, his best prize.

By now, he’d covered himself entirely to keep the ash from burning his skin, a mask over his face to help his breathing and goggles to protect his eyes. These items were all found by scavenging around the city. He’d left the familiar block of the Academy behind and had begun searching in other buildings. These were more family-styled homes and he occasionally came across the bodies of little kids or parents which caused him to quickly turn away before the little food he’d eaten made its reappearance.

There was still no one who seemed to have escaped whatever disaster had ended the world. He’d been on his own for seemingly days now, not another living soul in sight, just stinking, dead bodies partially or fully covered by rubble. The boy tried not to think about them too much. It wasn’t that they disgusted him- well, the adults didn’t- but living in the world of the dead while he was still living was not a thought that sat comfortably in his mind.

Rubble shifted haphazardly under his hands as he searched for food, the cleared space revealing the short, dark hair of a woman. He moved to another spot immediately, continuing his search. Then, he froze.

Unless his ears were tricking him, there was a tinny _bang, bang, bang_ coming from somewhere. The hits were too evenly spaced to be anything but purposeful. The hope that he’d thought had died suddenly resurged full force and he scrabbled over to the sound, “hello?”

His voice was hoarse and uncomfortably loud. The banging continued, “hello? Is anyone there?” he tried again.

There was no answer except for the continuous hitting sound. He shifted the rubble around on top of where he thought it was coming from until a dark crack appeared between the broken pieces, “hello? Can you hear me?”

The sound was definitely louder now and he made an effort to make the hole bigger, muscles tensing as he prepared for a maybe not-so-friendly encounter. Then, it was large enough to see inside. The pale, dirty face of a girl looked up at him, her eyes squeezed tightly shut against the apparent brightness. _How long had she been trapped under there? Days? Weeks?_ It was clearly awhile from how thin her face looked.

Five wasn’t even sure if she was real and he was just imagining the whole thing. He couldn’t help the disbelief that entered his tone as he asked, “what the _hell_?” 

That wasn’t the best response to seeing the first human- _alive-_ that he’d seen in however much time it had been, but like he’d said, he wasn’t a people-person. The girl didn’t respond, eyes still screwed up in a way that made her face look scrunched.

“Here, grab my hand, I’ll help you up,” _that was better_ , he decided, and extended said hand to the girl.

After realizing she couldn’t see it, he grasped her hand himself and startled at how small and bony it seemed. He pulled her out easily and wasn’t surprised to see that the rest of her matched the gaunt face and frail hand.

“Open your eyes,” he tried, “slowly. How long have you been down there?”

The girl shook her head, most likely answering both questions. He sighed and turned, “hold on a second, I’ll get something to help.”

Five returned to his wagon before she could protest and shifted around in his items, pleased when he found another pair of goggles. Stumbling slightly back to her, he placed them in her hand, “here, they’re not sunglasses but they should be better than nothing.”

He watched as she put them on, struggling slightly with the strap until it was secure. Her face relaxed and her eyes opened cautiously. Five tried not to suck in a startled breath. Her pupils were so large only a thin, blue line could be seen around them. It was kind of creepy if he was being honest. Immediately, she shut her eyes again. _He didn’t blame her_.

“What’s your name?” the boy tried, never one for small talk but knowing it was important.

The girl opened her mouth to answer but no sound came out. She shook her head.

He let out an irritated huff, “fine, then is this your house?”

She nodded, confirming that _yes,_ it was.

“Are there any supplies in your basement?”

Another nod.

“Is there anything I need to know before going down there?”

Again, she nodded, then paused, seemingly trying to get her words to work. When they didn’t, she made an open-close motion.

“Now isn’t the time for charades.” He wanted to tack on _moron_ or some similar insult but he forced himself not to. She wasn’t one of his siblings.

The girl did the motion again and held her cupped hands up to her face, as if she were reading.

“A book, you want me to get a book,” the disbelief was back.

When she nodded vigorously, he sighed, “fine. Where is it?”

The question made her still, uncertain of how to act out the location. Then, she drew a flat, rectangular shape in the air and two smaller ones on top of it. _He really hated riddles._

“I don’t get it,” he grumbled, frustrated, “just tell me they’re easy to find.”

The girl nodded again, “fine,” the boy decided, “I’ll get your stupid books. Wait here.”

The darkness didn’t bother him as he descended into the basement. Reginald would never let his adoptive experiments be afraid of something so silly as pitch-blackness. Then, Five’s foot hit something on the bottom step that almost made him loose his balance, “ _shit_!” he cursed, righting himself.

The boy bent down and felt for the obstacle, startling at the waxy feel of a candle. _Well, maybe she’s not a complete moron_ , he allowed. He felt around for matches and soon a small, golden glow lit up the dark space. He was surprised to find the basement completely intact. Then he immediately wrinkled his nose. _It stank like hell._

After several minutes of searching, he found the partitioned food in the back storeroom, the paint cans with broken lids and the tools, which he rooted through to find the most useful ones. He was especially pleased when he found a rope. Then, he turned to make his way back to the surface only to pause at the bottom of the staircase. _Her stupid books._

Five remembered seeing a desk at the edge of the circle of light so that’s what he went to find. On the surface sat three books: a used notebook and two published authors. He added those to the steadily-growing pile and clambered out messily, fighting to keep his balance as things spilled out of his hands.

Irritation pricked at him when he saw the girl was still standing, unmoving and eyes closed, right where he’d left her. _Scratch that earlier thought,_ he grumbled, _she is a complete moron._

After placing the things in the wagon, he made his way back over to her.

“Here,” he said, stuffing the requested items into her arms.

Her facial muscles twitched into what was probably her first smile in days, a sign of gratitude, he knew. He brushed it off, “you better open your eyes, we’re moving.”

She shook her head and his annoyance grew, “well, I’m not guiding you the whole way. There’s too much searching to be done and night will be here soon. You either open your eyes or I’m leaving you here.”

He wouldn’t, he knew. If she was the last human left alive he didn’t want to lose his only source of humanity.

Luckily, that caused her to open her eyes even as her face screwed up in pain. He pursed his lips in displeasure and studied her outfit, “the mask will help but you have to cover up. The ash burns and I don’t have any way of healing you if you get hurt.”

She seemed to be understanding about that and after some difficult maneuvering- and several close calls where he’d had to catch her- they made it to the wagon where he began handing her the extra clothing he’d found.

Once she was set up appropriately, he picked up the handle of the almost-full wagon. The girl tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?” he asked shortly.

She handed him the spiral-bound notebook, opened to the first page. On it, in slightly loopy, readable handwriting was the opening sentence: _My name is Lola Gimbel and I was born August 1, 2004._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Dolores and Five have met- we'll be going deep into apocalypse culture for the foreseeable chapters so get ready.
> 
> This is my first time writing for (only) Five's POV so let me know if you liked it! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and see you soon :)


	6. ...Is Often Paved With Good Intentions

“Lola Gimbel? That’s your name?” the boy asked.

He was clearly a boy even if she hadn’t seen his face. Lola nodded, then pointed further down the page. Even if the brightness made her vision spotty, she knew the opening of her autobiography well enough to know what the layout was.

He read aloud, ignoring the cross-outs:

_I’m getting ahead of myself; I was born in Toronto General Hospital at 9:15 a.m. According to my birth certificate, I weighed five pounds, five ounces. ~~Tiny, I know!~~ My mother was in labor for almost nine hours and when I finally arrived, she named me Dolores. I hate my name because it sounds so old fashioned and it means sadness. I’d like to think I was a gift to my parents, ~~but maybe not?~~ and I know they love me, so instead of telling them that, I call myself Lola, which is better. It’s still a derivative of Dolores, after all. As for appearances, I have shoulder-length brown hair with mid-length bangs and blue eyes._

“Your name is Dolores but you call yourself by something else?” he sounded genuinely confused at that, even when she nodded. He didn’t ask why, having read her explanation.

He hesitated then said, “I’m Five. Yes, as in the number. That’s a long story that you don’t need to hear. Do you know what happened?” he asked, gesturing around them.

Lola shook her head. Once the brightness had dimmed slightly, the world of ash and rubble had shocked her to her core. The last she’d seen of the known earth had been what everyone knew. _What about my parents?_ she wanted to ask, _what about the other survivors?_

For some reason, the words wouldn’t come. It was as if her voice had been locked away, unreachable though she tried.

“Normally I would say I work better on my own but seeing as you’re in no fit state to survive, I’ll let you stay on until you can. I fully expect you to keep up with me, though. If you fall behind I’m not going to wait up.”

His voice was harsh and unforgiving, reminding her slightly of her mother when she gave out chores or corrected something of Lola’s behavior that she didn’t like. Unable to do anything else, she nodded. The boy- Five, what a strange name- started to walk again, leaving her to twist around and stare at the blurry remains of her house. Her heart twisted, _somewhere in there were her parents and uncle._

“Let’s go!” he barked from up ahead.

Lola sighed. Her imagined savior had never acted like the boy was now. Stumbling after him, she allowed the boy to continue at his pace, albeit slightly slower than before. Her eyes were going to take a while to adjust not to mention regaining her strength.

\--

Her vision returned slowly. After so long of nothing but blackness even the dark, ashy world was blindingly bright. Soon, though, her pupils return to their normal size and the rubble with dying fires take over her vision and she isn’t sure what’s worse: not being able to see anything or what her current landscape is.

Lola’s strength returned in increments as well. While she’d paced her basement for who knew how long that was nothing compared to the treacherous surface of the earth that they traveled over now. Loose rocks would get in their path, solid parts of the road turned out to be not-so-solid, climbing over broken buildings was no easy feat, either, but it was the worst of the three.

The first time she’d come across a dead body, she had made the motion of screaming, recoiling in disgust and tripping away so fast that she fell backward, eyes very, very wide. Still, no sound had come out in her panic even then. After that, she kept to the road and waited for Five to be done with each pile of rubble.

That made two things pop up in her mind. First, her parents. She’d never gotten a chance to properly grieve for them, she’d never seen their bodies or buried them, never said a true goodbye. The boy had just made her up and leave as if they meant _nothing_ to her. He might not care about anyone but she certainly did. During the day, it was easy to be strong, especially when he walked slightly in front of her to remind her of his… harshness. At night, though, silent sobs shook her body and her grief and panic came pouring out, finally released from the time she’d kept it bottled up in the basement. There was still no sound that came out of her throat but that didn’t stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. In the morning, she always acted like nothing happened.

The second thing was the boy. If she was strange, he was stranger. His words were never gentle and never kind and whenever he spoke it was usually to bark out orders. He barely even looked her way, too and he certainly didn’t accommodate for her less-than-stellar physical state. She did give him credit for knowing how to survive, though. Even if they went without food for days, he clearly had apocalypse training and could do helpful things like start fires- none of which she contributed to.

Lola could feel his irritation with her growing day by day as she tagged along and burdened him. In brief moments of discussion that were few and far between, the boy had hinted at making an effort to get out of the apocalypse although how, she had no idea. All she knew is that he had family he wanted to get back to.

\--

After nearly a month of doing nothing but scavenging, Lola was waiting for him to finish up at one of the houses and reading Vanya’s book while she sat on a pile of bricks. Her heart nearly stopped when she came across chapter number five labeled: _Number Five_. Her eyes had darted to the heavily-clad boy searching through the rubble before back to the page. _I’m Five. Yes, as in the number. That’s a long story that you don’t need to hear._

She skimmed through his chapter, eyes widening at Vanya’s recount of the boy’s disappearance from the family. _Except, he hadn’t disappeared._ He’d time traveled. Lola didn’t know how that was possible and it seemed almost too shocking to be _right_ , but it was all there in the account. She’d mentioned the day he’d disappeared, he had argued with their father at dinner about time travel, leading her to speculate he was successful in doing so.

“We’re done here,” the boy’s voice suddenly cut into her thoughts, cold and sharp, “let’s keep moving.”

The girl stood and quickly hid her book. She was pretty sure he noticed but he didn’t say anything. They resumed their path, silence falling over them again. That was the worst part of this whole thing, she thought, the silence. Not the dead bodies, the inability to wash properly, the lack of food and water, the terrible companion she had, the smell or any number of problems they faced. Because apart from the howling wind, the world was still.

After a month, the fires had mostly died out even as burning ash still fell from the sky. The animals hadn’t returned, though. There were no birds chirping in the trees (no trees either, really), no sounds of traffic or other human noise, no buzzing of bugs or even the running of water. What little natural water they _did_ find wasn’t fit for human consumption so they had to pray that contained water was stored somewhere in the rubble.

As they walked, Lola eyed the boy next to her. He wasn’t very tall, nearly the same height as she was. He certainly didn’t _seem_ special just especially crabby, which she could understand. She also had no idea what he looked like since they never removed their coverings. All she could tell was that he had some sort of bright, sharp eye color that was indiscernible in the dirtiness of the goggles.

\--

The first change in their- well, she wouldn’t exactly call it a partnership, but in their acquaintanceship? No, even that was too friendly. Still, when they arrived at the old library, things changed.

Five was rooting around the rubble like usual while Lola waited at the edge of the vast expanse of crumbled rock. Now, the boy was looking for informational books (she knew exactly which ones even if he hadn’t shared that with her.)

She watched him still suddenly and the urge to ask _why_ rose up so strongly in her that the words were almost on her tongue before she swallowed them back. Instead, she waited until he made his way back, his face turned downward and fixed on the cover of a book he was holding. When he was close enough he surprisingly held it out to her so she could read the cover, “my sister wrote this,” he explained, a note of unusual pride in his voice.

Lola stilled, recognizing the title.

“I guess you’ll get to find out about my family after all,” he said with something of a chuckle, “you’re not the only strange one here. I bet it’ll be a good read.”

He sat on a few stacked-up bricks and opened to the first page. The boy glanced up, “well, aren’t you going to sit?”

She gave a jerky little nod and made her way past him, deciding that sitting behind him would be best so he couldn’t see that all of the words were already familiar to her. The boy’s voice was loud in the stillness of the world and she tuned him out, already knowing the story. The brunette closed her eyes instead and tried to catch up on sleep. This turned out to be a mistake.

\--

Dolores was a strange girl, Five decided, not that he’d had much experience with girls apart from his sisters (his robotic mother didn’t count.) She never spoke a word which he supposed was better than endless chatter. Still, her presence grated on his nerves and he was irritable more often than not, hating her blank, blue eyes as she watched him go about his business, never helping them survive. He’d be glad to leave her in this hell.

Sometimes the silence got to him and he had to fill it with a few words, nothing personal, but even then he didn’t get a reply. It was like talking to a damn doll. _A mannequin_. All she would do was train her blue, blue eyes on him and study his every movement. It was unnerving, to say the least.

He did have to give her credit for being able to keep up with him, though. After the first few days, she had little trouble staying with his pace. Other than barking out orders, he hadn't much else to say to her and refused to use her name. Like in his own family, using a name meant creating attachment and creating attachment was best to be avoided since he _definitely_ wasn’t going to be bringing her with him.

Now, he sat in the ruins of the library reading the book his sister wrote to the strange girl. He’d wondered briefly why she’d chosen to sit _behind_ him instead of next to him or some other location but that was an almost instantly disregarded the notion. He didn’t care, it turned out.

Still, when he got to a particularly good section in Number Four’s chapter, he turned to explain the actual story since it was one of the ones he’d been there for, only to find the girl with her eyes closed, presumably fast asleep. Irritation prickled in him again, surging forward faster each time. Rooting around in the space by his feet, he found a small rock and tossed it in her direction, causing the girl to startle awake. She looked at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry my life story is boring for you,” Five said sarcastically, allowing his annoyance to spill forth.

She gave a little huff and her eyes darted away.

“One would think that learning about superheroes with powers _actually_ existing would be more startling.”

The girl’s head jerked up and her eyes widened comically behind her goggles as her head nodded vigorously. _A totally fake reaction_. Suspicion joined the frustration.

“Why _aren’t_ you more surprised? Did you already know this? What other damn secrets are you hiding?”

She shook her head _no_ this time, denying any one of his questions. He cursed in angrily. _He just wished she would speak_. He stood, moving so that he towered over her, “well? Aren’t you going to answer me? I’ve had just about enough of you freaking silence.”

She was even worse than his sister. At least Seven was _smart_ and was a talented violin player. This girl just sat like a lump on a log, completely, utterly useless. As expected, no sound came out of her mouth she opened it although the wideness of her eyes became more realistic.

Five turned and stalked back to the wagon, reaching for the small section that held _her_ things and froze when his hands grasped a copy of the same book he’d just found. Anger replaced any other emotion he felt. _She had known. All this time and she’d never said anything, but she’d known. Even when he mentioned his family she hadn’t pointed out the book_.

His mind flashed to when he’d seen her hide something during one of the many houses he’d searched. She’d tucked it into the back of the wagon, out of sight as he’d come back. He marched back over to her and thrust it into her face, “ _you knew_?” he snarled, “all this time and you’ve never thought to bring it up?”

Her mouth opened and she pointed to it. Anger flashed in his eyes, “I don’t _care_ that you can’t speak! You’ve figured out ways to communicate! The _least_ you could’ve done is show me the book!”

He paused, his chest heaving slightly as the grief he’d pushed away threatened to come back. _He could’ve known about his family so much sooner._ Even though he acted tough and knew he had to, the apocalypse had not yet taken _all_ of his only fifteen years of life away from him.

His eyes flashed again and he leaned in close to her face, “you’re completely useless,” he spit out, feeling pleased at the hurt look in her eyes. He pushed away the thought that it reminded him of Number Seven, “ _I’m_ the one doing all the hard work, the only one who’s keeping us alive. What do you do all day? Nothing! When I get out of here, I’ll be _glad_ to leave you behind.”

The girl gasped quietly, real fear entering her eyes. Five smirked and straightened, “that’s right,” he said, smugness entering his tone, “ _I’m_ leaving,” he didn’t need to tell her that he had no way out yet, “you haven’t spoken for the entire time we’ve been here,” he said sharply, “there’s no reason for me to save you. We’ve been here for _months_ and you’ve done nothing-“

“Forty-two days.”

He paused, his rant dying in his throat at the quiet whisper, “what?”

“We’ve been here for forty-two days. Not months.”

Anger flared briefly before dying, “whatever, okay? I didn’t even know you could speak.”

She stood, clearly steeling herself, “of course I can speak,” her voice was a raw and scratchy but easily heard when there was no other sound.

“Then why haven’t you?” he demanded irritably.

“Excuse me for being shocked at the sight of waking up to an apocalypse,” she answered, her whisper turning chilly.

“ _I_ wasn’t.”

“You also weren’t stuck in a basement for two weeks in complete darkness.”

He had to concede her point, “still, why are you suddenly speaking again?”

The girl paused as if considering, “I think it’s because I was afraid.”

Five scoffed, “afraid? Of what, the dark?”

Her eyes flashed briefly but she didn’t confirm the question, “of you leaving,” she admitted, “I don’t want to be alone.”

The girl’s honesty threw him for a loop. After being stuck with a manipulative father and- mostly- conniving siblings all struggling to get his approval, honesty was the _last_ thing he was expecting from anyone, especially a near-stranger.

“I’m not staying here,” he said firmly, “now that you know I can time travel, you know I’m going to leave. You _belong_ in this time, I don’t,” his previous irritation seemed to have abated in the face of this new, unexpected occurrence.

The girl looked down, studying her worn, dusty boots, “how will you get home?”

He rolled his eyes, “math, obviously.”

“What kind of math, like two plus two equals four?”

She was suddenly being very chatty despite her quiet voice.

“The space-time continuum is much more complicated than first-grade math problems,” he answered flatly, turning his back on her to pick up the wheel of the wagon.

Five was still pissed that she’d withheld his own family’s information from him- he wasn’t about to let her off the hook _that_ easily. He never had, no matter who he was angry at. The girl made to leap over the loose rocks and land next to him, clearly getting more comfortable on the treacherous terrain.

“So, what, like nine times nine instead?” she asked and he couldn’t believe the teasing note that he heard in her voice.

The boy rolled his eyes again, “no, and I don’t have time to teach you. Besides, you’re the one in the wrong here,” he said, his voice returning to his usual harshness, “ _you_ hid the book about my family from me.”

The girl was silent for a minute before she let out a breath, “I’m sorry, okay?” she said quietly, “that probably doesn’t mean anything to you but you had enough to worry about without being freaked out over the fact that I knew who you were and I didn't even put the pieces together until later. Besides, you’re not a very warm and fuzzy person so I didn’t think you’d, well, want someone knowing your personal information.”

“Would you have told me if I had known to ask?”

She paused thoughtfully, “no,” came her honest answer, once again surprising him, "I don't think you'd have been too pleased that I knew your backstory." 

He scoffed, " _pleased_ wouldn't even begin to describe it." 

"Exactly." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say for this chapter but I hope you enjoyed it! We'll be getting a lot more Lola and Five conversations in the next few chapters :) 
> 
> Also, let me know if you catch the reference I put in. I'll be making another one from the same series later because it's one of my favorite ones to make :) 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think!


	7. I've Walked for Miles, My Feet are Hurting

Lola had surprised even herself when she started talking again. When she’d come out of the basement, her voice had died in her throat, matching the death and destruction around them. Her reasoning had been shock. The night before the end of the world, everything had been normal. Then she’d been stuck in a basement for an estimated nearly-two weeks and when she’d finally, _finally_ come out, the world around her had changed so drastically that it had struck a fear that she’d never felt before deep in her heart.

Then, when Five had threatened to leave her behind in his anger the fear had resurfaced in the reverse effect, giving her her voice back. The unspoken promise of Five’s departure still lingered like an elephant in the room but neither teen paid attention to it; it was better that they work in harmony as often as possible and that was _definitely_ a point of disagreement. The brunette remembered how fiercely he’d spoken, the anger in his eyes sharp as lightening even behind the safety of his goggles. She pushed it away, not liking the fact that she hadn’t liked to see him angry, especially at _her_. If he was going to leave her behind, they shouldn’t get close even as the thought of living alone for the rest of her life made shivers run down her spine.

“How did you know?” Five’s voice broke the silence suddenly and the girl startled.

“How did I know what?”

“That forty-two days have passed,” he explained impatiently as they trudged along.

Lola shrugged, “my Uncle Ed says I’m a counter. I count things and they just stick in my head. I’m terrible at math, though,” she admitted, “but I can pick out patterns in equations and things like that. I don’t know, it’s just something I do without really trying. Of course,” she added, waving her arms around emphatically, “I don’t _really_ know how many days have passed in this damn hell. It’s more of an estimation.”

Five was glad that his mask hid his smirk, “so, what, you count everything? The number of rocks that we pass?”

She rolled her eyes slightly, “not exactly. My brain just picks up on certain things and I do it. Like I knew how many steps my basement held. And how large it was by counting my steps. Things like that.”

The boy gave her a curious look before quickly facing forward again. He _almost_ preferred her silence because at least then he could tell himself that she was dumb. Now he wasn’t so sure. Not as smart as he was, certainly- there were very few people that were- but definitely smarter than he’d given her credit for. She’d also picked up the slack in finding useable items, making herself less of a burden. He still hadn’t apologized for lashing out but he wasn’t one for admitting his mistakes; besides, why should he apologize when he didn’t feel sorry?

“Shouldn’t we find somewhere more permanent to live?” Lola asked.

He shook his head, “if we do, the supplies will run out too soon and we’ll have to move again. It’s better to just constantly roam around.”

“What about your spacial jumps?”

Sometimes he was surprised with how well she knew him until he remembered Vanya’s book, “what do you mean?”

“Well, couldn’t you use them to find resources farther away?”

As good of an idea as it was he didn’t want to admit it and went for irritation instead, “I’ve already _told_ you. My powers don’t work here.”

“Your time traveling ones don’t,” she pointed out unhelpfully, “have you tried your other ones?”

He shook his head, “they’re a waste of energy. Even though I make it _look_ easy, they’re certainly not.”

Lola sighed, “I’m getting really tired of walking.”

Five glanced at her, “you could ride in the wagon,” he suggested.

The girl shot him a surprised look before immediately shaking her head, “no way, then I’d be even more of a _burden_. Besides, I can pull my own weight now,” her eyes shot him a teasing look behind her goggles.

He rolled his, not very impressed by the pun and ignored her jab at their first argument, “well, then I have no other solutions to offer you so quit complaining.”

She sighed again and quieted, lowering her eyes to the ground as she watched her footsteps cross the dirty road. Ash still fell from the sky even as the fires finally burned away and the dark grey color gave no sign of what time of the day or year it was. No grass grew in the cracks of the sidewalk and the green leave of the trees had been burned away, leaving nothing but beige rubble and twisted black-and-grey metal.

Lola had lost count of how many miles they’d covered as they walked the town, only stopping for meager meals and to sleep, which never came easily. She _hated_ the pitch-black of the dark night as it reminded her of those horrible two weeks. There weren’t even any stars or moon due to the cloudy coverage and no sun shone during the day.

They were silent for a good long while after that until it grew to be too much, both of them breaking around the same time.

“What songs do you know?”

“What?”

“You know,” Lola said, “singing? Pop songs? Anything?”

Five shook his head, “I never had time for that sort of thing. It’s pointless, really.”

Her eyes widened in slight insult, “it’s not _pointless_!” she exclaimed, “I mean, I bet you’d work ten times better if you listened to music while you did math. In fact,” she added smugly, “it’s scientifically proven. Well, that’s just classical music but still.”

“We can’t very well listen to classical music here, now can we? Unless you’re hiding a violin under your books?” the thought of the violin made him think of Number Seven. He winced and pushed it away.

Lola rolled her eyes, “no, I don’t. Besides, I’m not musically inclined,” suddenly, she snapped her fingers, “but _you_ are from 2002, which means you haven’t heard the Greatest Hits From Today,” she said the last four words as if they were a title and her hands came up to spread apart from one another to create the invisible headline.

The boy rolled his eyes back, “I’m sure I can live without them,” he commented dryly.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Nonsense. I may not have the greatest singing voice but I definitely know the hit tunes.”

“Never use the phrase ‘hit tunes’ again,” he said in mock sternness, “it makes you sound like an old woman.”

Lola grinned at him, pleased that she’d somehow lightened the atmosphere, “okay, fine, as long as you’ll let me sing.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Well, this one isn’t exactly modern but I think it goes great with our current task. Have you ever heard of the song _Beast of Burden_?”

“I think that was before my time,” he said, causing her to smile slightly.

“Mine too but I still know the lyrics. I think,” she added, before pausing to recall them, “okay, let’s go.”

Five huffed and rolled his eyes at her dramatics but was pleased she’d found a way to fill the silence without _actually_ talking to him because talking meant getting closer and getting closer meant that it would be harder to say goodbye, which wasn’t an option. He’d been working on his equations for weeks now with no breakthroughs yet; he didn’t have time to strike up a friendship- not that he _needed_ one.

As they walked, he considered her voice. It had strengthened over the past few days but still had a hoarse quality to it. And she’d been right, she _wasn’t_ a very good singer. Her words were pitchy and she didn’t make most of what he thought the notes should have been but he didn’t stop her. After hours of silence it was nice to have something else to hear.

\--

They were scavenging again, this time closer to the old city center. Lola had become less squeamish about the dead bodies but still jumped back every time she saw one. In the few hours she slept, they sometimes reappeared in her dreams, causing her to jolt awake and stare into the darkness again. Other times, when she couldn’t sleep because _there were dead bodies everywhere_ , her grief would come crashing back and she would try to quiet her sobs. The boy seemed to not have a problem sleeping or he at least faked it well.

They were on the move so much that she didn’t really get time to think and process everything that had happened. Sure, she had the hours when they were walking but then the silence made it unbearable and she’d have to fill it somehow. For some reason, though, Five didn’t complain about her talking like she thought he would. He certainly wasn’t what one would call _chatty_ but he had softened somewhat in the hours that they’d walked.

Now, he was on the opposite side of the collapsed building, systematically moving rubble out of the way to look for useful items. Lola was on the opposite side, discovering lunch tins and coats coated with ash. _A school._ Her stomach turned. _Please, please don’t let me find any kids here._

Her hands opened the lunch boxes busily, looking for any food that was still good even after (maybe) eighty days, humming quietly to herself as she worked. She hardly payed attention to the designs on the boxes and tossed them away once she determined they were useless. So far, she’d found rotten grapes, several softened bananas, a sandwich with green mold on it and spoiled milk.

Lola’s twentieth lunchbox was promising as she pulled out a Twinkie from one of the containers. She stuffed it into her pocket, pleased to have a sweet treat to share. Then her search continued. After several more boxes in an area further on, she found a pack of M&M’s, Cheetos and tiny muffins which all sill looked edible.

Five wandered back over to her, “any luck?”

The girl nodded and showed him her findings. He pursed his lips, “I was hoping for beans or something healthier. We won’t keep up our strength if we’re eating junk.”

“It’s a preschool, Five,” she said, “what can you expect? The healthiest thing I’ve found is a moldy sandwich.”

He gave her an interested look, “how much mold was on it?”

Lola gagged slightly, “we- _I-_ will not be eating a moldy sandwich even if it only has one speck of green.”

“A little mold won’t hurt you,” he said easily, “besides, we’ll probably have to be eating bugs soon.”

“Oh, gross!” the brunette really _did_ gag this time and covered her mouth, “I think I might throw up!”

“Well, it’s either that or starve,” he responded simply, the idea of eating bugs not bothering him _too_ much. He would do what it took to survive, “keep looking,” he decided, “I’m going over there,” he pointed in the intended direction.

“Okay. Just remember, _don’t_ eat mold,” Lola’s eyes narrowed almost playfully behind her goggles.

He held up his hands in self-defense, “alright, alright, you don’t have to nag.”

“Oh, you think that’s nagging? I’ll show you what _real_ nagging is. My mom is a pro at it,” too late, she realized she spoke in the present tense. Her heart panged with the loss, “ _was_ ,” she corrected quietly, “ _was_ a pro at it.”

Whatever lighthearted mood they’d had disappeared and Five frowned slightly and sounded surprisingly awkward when he spoke, “right, well, I’ll just be over there then,” and he hightailed away from her.

Even with the sudden discomfort, Lola was still glad she’d brought it up. She’d pushed away memories of her mother-and family in general- to try and help cope with the loss and had barely spoken with Five about her past, not that he seemed to care all that much. Still, despite the lump in her throat that wasn’t from breathing in ashy air and the longing she felt for the days she’d taken for granted, Lola had known she couldn’t repress the memories forever.

The girl resumed her search quietly until she froze suddenly, her hands coming to rest on a metal lunch box. Using her ratty coverings to clean off the lid, her eyes widened slightly at the design. It was a _The Umbrella Academy_ lunchbox. She quickly put it in her pile. Maybe if she gave it to the boy mentions of her mother wouldn’t freak him out.

\--

Later that day, Five finished looking through everything that he thought would be useful. He’d found a pair of boots that seemed to be his size which he could replace when he wore out his current shoes and a few scraps of clothing from what had been presumably the lost-and-found area that could be helpful as well. He returned to the area where the girl was working, “you finished?”

Her humming stopped and she looked up at him, “yep. You?”

The boy gestured to the items in his arms, “not much survived, I think, but I found a few things.”

Her misspeak from earlier still haunted his mind. Five had never been good with comforting people having been taught that most emotions were a weakness and best to be avoided. So, when the girl had suddenly gotten upset about her mother, he’d made himself scarce.

As quiet as she thought she was, the girl didn’t do a very good job at hiding her sobs at night. They kept him awake as he stared into the darkness- not that sleep would be peaceful, either, but the sound of crying kept him from resting altogether. At least she didn’t cry during the day so he didn’t have to mention it.

There was a moment of awkward silence as neither of them knew what to say next until the girl spoke up again. She seemed to have more people skills than he did (which wasn’t saying much), “here, I found this,” she produced a log-shaped package, “it’s called a Twinkie. I thought we might share it in, well- not celebration but-“

“I know what a Twinkie is,” Five said, faintly amused despite himself.

If he could see her face, she would probably be blushing in embarrassment, “right, well. Do you want to share? We don’t have to-“

It was kind of fun to watch her stumble all over her words, “yeah, alright,” he agreed and sat down next to her. It had been quite awhile since either of them had had something sweet besides canned fruit.

There was a crinkle as the package opened and the girl broke it in half, holding both out, “which one do you want?”

Five blinked at her. If he’d ever had the chance to share with his siblings- not that he would- he’d immediately take whatever piece he wanted first or they would, depending on who was offering, “oh, well-“ he clamped his mouth shut to avoid the same stuttering she’d done and took the slightly smaller half, “thanks,” he mumbled.

They both removed their masks to eat, biting into each respective side easily. Five expected a slightly-too sweet cake-taste that came from processed foods but to his revulsion, it crumbled in his mouth and was as dry as dust. The both coughed and crumbs went flying everywhere as they tried to spit it out.

The boy dropped the half he was holding in an effort to clear his throat, “oh, gross!” the girl exclaimed, disgusted.

He couldn’t agree more, his stomach turning slightly at the effect age had had on the food. After taking a few sips of their precious water supply, he felt better and promised himself that he’d be _much_ more careful about sweets in the future.

“I’m sorry,” the girl apologized once she’d recovered, “I didn’t know it would be like that. They-“

“Definitely don’t last forever?” he guessed.

Since her mask was still off, he saw her lips twitch up in a smile, “I’m surprised you know about that. But yeah, that.”

The boy shrugged, “it’s not like you did it on purpose,” he dismissed, still surprised and slightly perplexed at her- generous? Non-competitive? behavior.

The girl paused again and turned, shifting through her small pile until she produced a metal lunchbox, “I was going to wait for your birthday but I think I’ll give you this now to make up for it.”

“My birthday?”

“Yeah, you know, the day you were born? October 1st?”

He snorted, “yeah, I _know_ , but why would you give me a present?”

She glanced away, “why not? Anyway, here,” the girl shoved the box towards him without further introduction.

Five took the box from her and gave it a curious look, “what’s this?”

She leaned over slightly and he tensed as he felt her press against his arm while she pointed at the design, “look.”

The boy looked, his eyes widening as he took in the familiar outlines, “you- you found-“

“I thought you might like it,” she mumbled quietly, clearly uncomfortable, “I mean, pictures didn’t survive and it’s not exactly the same, but-“

He stared at the cartoon images of his siblings and the familiar, comic text of his Academy. He swallowed, uncertain of what to say. No one had ever really given him a present. October 1st in the Hargreeves household went by largely unaccounted for as did all other holidays and special events. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to express what the stupid, childish lunchbox meant to him.

“Thanks,” he said, thinking the word was too benign for such a- a _gift_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! I hope I'm characterizing Five right. Going off the books is always a little worrisome because I do want to be true to how he's portrayed in the show. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you next chapter! As always, feel free to let me know what you think! Your comments are very appreciated :)


	8. The Great Debate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I decided to change most of the chapter and make this less filler-y.

Lola watched the boy in wonder. For some reason, Five had found a vast amount of patience that he’d previously been lacking. (Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. He was still very grumpy.) Still, as they sat down that evening for a meager dinner of a split can of beans, she couldn’t believe he’d _actually_ answered her question instead of ignoring it.

“What?” he asked, his tone growing slightly more irritable.

The girl shook her head, “never mind. Hey, since we don’t have anything to do, do you wanna see a magic trick?”

The boy snorted, spooning some beans into his mouth, “magic isn’t real.”

She rolled her eyes, “fine. Do you wanna see some _slight-of-hand_?” she specifically enunciated the last three words.

He eyed her curiously, “you know prestidigitation?”

“There’s no need to show off how smart you are,” Lola grumbled slightly, “there’s only one person you have to compete with and that’s me, so you don’t have to try so hard.”

Five ignored her complaining, “I mean, it’s trivial to what I can do but it’s an interesting skill for-“ he paused, having been about to say _normal_ people, “someone your age to have.”

She huffed, “’someone my age?’” she questioned slightly mockingly, “you say that like you’re an old man.”

“There are days when I _feel_ like an old man,” he retorted lightly.

Lola rolled her eyes again, “yeah, yeah, you’re better than everyone, namely the only person left alive which is me. But to answer your question, _yes_ , that’s why I offered.”

“Let’s see, then.”

The girl pulled out her worn deck of cards and shuffled them together, feeling the familiar, plastic-y feel under her fingertips. The light from their small fire flickered against the wall they’d taken refuge against, causing the shadows of two sitting teens to shrink and grow. Outside of their circle of light, the area around them was steadily darkening into the increasingly-familiar inky blackness of night. Their wagon sat a on the other side of the campfire to help block wind from that side.

Lola showed her cards face down, “pick a card, any card,” she said, her tone slightly self-mocking.

With their masks off for eating dinner, she saw him shoot her a faintly amused grin. Pleased, she watched him pull a card from the deck, “okay, don’t show me but make sure you remember it.”

Five gave her a little smirk, “I’ve never forgotten anything.”

“Yes, alright you genius. You’re smart, I get it,” she responded lightly, causing his smirk to grow, “you’re the one who said it, not me. Okay, I’ve got my card. What’s next?”

He slid it back into her offered deck and she hid it behind her back, flipping over all but his card. When Lola pulled out the face-up deck, his card was the only one face down.

“Not bad,” Five allowed, “but pretty rudimentary. Give me a day and I’ll figure it out.”

She snorted, “magic is supposed to be a mystery.”

“Not magic,” he corrected her, “prestidigitation. Magic doesn’t exist.”

“What do you call your birth? Or your powers?”

“A science experiment,” he answered promptly.

“Maybe in the way your father trained you,” she responded, ignoring his glare, “but you weren’t conceptualized like every other normal baby on earth. You were born like Athena from Greek culture, except you didn’t pop out of your mother’s forehead. Probably.”

“It’s still not magic,” Five insisted, placing his finished can aside, “it’s an anomaly, if anything. Besides, Greek myths aren’t based on true facts.”

“Isn’t there a saying that there’s a bit of truth in every myth? Maybe the Greeks predicted how you would be born.”

“There’s no way that people from thousands of years ago could have predicted events like my birth. I’ll allow that they _could_ have thought of versions of modern inventions and similar things before their time but something as unusual as super-powered babies? Do you know how many events had to line up exactly right to get the time line we’re in now?”

“And now you’re bringing math into this,” Lola sighed, “look, it’s proven that magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Therefore, your powers can be considered magic.”

“But I _do_ understand them,” he argued, “I’ve done the math, I know how time works-“

“Not very well, though,” she said easily, “for you to get stuck here.”

Five shot her another glare, “I can admit when I’ve made a mistake. My calculations were off, that’s all. I _still_ understand what I’m doing and could explain it to a reasonably smart person. Hence, it’s not magic at all.”

“What about your other siblings’ powers? How do explain the ability to commune with the dead? Or to alter reality with your voice?”

He felt a prickle of anger at the subject of his family, “leave my siblings out of this,” he snapped, trying to shut down the pang of loss that followed whenever he thought of them.

“Sorry,” Lola said, meaning it, “but I was just trying to point out that not even _you_ understand how those things work. For the common layperson, your family’s powers _are_ magical.”

“Well, if I had known we were talking about your average, everyday human, then there would’ve been no point to argue.”

She couldn’t help but grin, “what other topics do we disagree about?”

\--

Of course, not all their debates ended in agreement. As the days rolled from smoggy summer to ashy fall, Lola approached the boy one evening.

“I’m leaving,” she announced.

He barely glanced up from his book, “what?”

“I’m leaving,” the brunette enunciated, “you said I could tag along until I was strong enough to survive on my own. I am now, so I’m leaving.”

Still scribbling away, Five rolled his eyes, “no you’re not. You wouldn’t survive.”

She glared at the back of his head, “I would too. You’ve taught me how to make a fire. I’m better at finding food than you. I know how to make a shelter. I can survive.”

“Oh yeah? And how would you defend yourself if you needed to?”

“We haven’t seen anything larger than a rat since we’ve been here. I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m only distracting you from your _precious_ equations.” Okay, that was a little passive aggressive.

In her defense, she’d been thinking about this for so long but hadn’t had the courage to broach the subject until now and he was only making things worse, “if I knew any better, I’d think you wanted me to stay.”

“It’s a good thing you do, then, isn’t it?” he asked easily, “I just don’t want to come across your dead body, thanks.”

She scoffed, “ _I’d_ rather not come across yours.”

“You wouldn’t,” his tone was edging on irritability now, “and you’re not going, so sit your ass down and be quiet so I can concentrate.”

Lola’s teeth clicked together and she glared at him bitterly, “I’m _leaving_.”

“You’re not,” he said, almost sing-song, “otherwise, why are you asking for my permission?”

“I wasn’t asking,” she shot back, “I was doing the polite thing and informing you. It was _you_ who misunderstood the sentiment, you asshole.”

“Wow, name calling already?” the boy sounded less than impressed, “go on, then. See if I care. I bet I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I bet you won’t.”

He didn’t even deign to respond to that except to give her a tiny, insolent shrug that made her blood boil. Lola turned on her heel and stalked over to the wagon to collect her books and meager assortment of goods that she’d claimed as hers. After piling everything in one arm, she walked back to the fire and picked up one of the lose pieces of wood in the small stack. She dipped the end into the flame and once it was lit, used it as a torch.

She gave the boy a cold look, “I won’t be seeing you around,” she said by means of goodbye and turned her back on him, striding out into the night.

Not even twenty feet away from the campfire, darkness enveloped her. Lola could feel the creeping sensation of being trapped and out of the corner of her eye outside the flickering glow of her torch, the juggling circus monkey mocked her. The girl squeezed her eyes shut. _She’d be better off without that prick._ Her eyes opened and she continued walking, steeling herself against the temptation of going back and admitting _he_ was right.

The thought of the smug look on the boy’s face was enough to prevent her from returning. She wasn’t sure how long she walked especially without the light of the moon or stars, but eventually she deemed herself far enough away to settle down again for the night. So, she sat with her back pressed against the remaining half-wall of concrete of some building, her books clutched in her arms and the torch staked into the ground in front of her as the flames ate up the stick of wood.

\--

Lola wasn’t sure what woke her but she startled awake and listened. Then, she realized two things: one, she’d almost had a full night’s sleep. And two, the absence of the irritating boy was more noticeable than she’d originally thought.

Her torch had burned out to leave an ashy stump and the wind whistled around the makeshift barrier, causing her to shiver. _Fall was definitely coming_ _even if there was no discernible change in lighting_. She wondered what she would do once winter came and the thought alone chilled her. Five’s prediction would probably come true. She pushed it away, reassuring herself she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

Pushing herself up on her feet, Lola began her usual routine of walking but this time it wasn’t aimless. She wanted to go back home and find her family. While she knew the effort would be futile and a waste of energy, she had been thrown into these new circumstances without a thought of her past, a past that had been her present only hours before she’d been trapped. So, even with a voice sounding suspiciously like Five’s telling her that this would not help her survival, she turned her feet towards her broken home.

Her neighborhood was unrecognizable. The brunette’s vision hadn’t been to it’s usual strength when she’d left with Five, the crumbled houses and piles of rubble indistinct blurs that she saw as she squinted against the- then- glaring light. Now, under the dark, gray sky, the beige-brown-tan of the new world hardly resembled the neat city blocks and bright lawns of the town homes that Lola was familiar with. She sucked in breath, almost unable to process the absolute devastation that surrounded her even though she’d lived in it for more than a month now. At least then, she’d been able to convince herself that somehow, _her_ world was still intact, just not accessible.

Now, as she stared at the changed landscape, she couldn’t convince herself of the lie anymore. Even the forbidding Umbrella Academy block-sized house was no longer standing, all of the buildings collapsing to nearly the same height. Lola carefully picked her way along the rubble-filled streets, trying to remember what the sound of cars passing by and horns honking outside her window had sounded like. In the silence of the city, it was almost ghostly. She shivered.

When the girl arrived to the place she thought her house was, she stopped and stared again at the pile of cement blocks that made up the place she’d once called _home_. A feeling of something like vomit rose in her throat but she forced it back down. _She didn’t have enough food to spare to upchuck it._ Steeling herself, she gingerly clambered over the fallen bricks, the wind tugging at her clothes and threatening to send her face first into the remains of her house.

She made her way to the back corner where the kitchen had been and started removing the bricks she could, trying to unearth the food that had survived. As she did this, Lola thought about what could have possibly ended the world. Nukes? No, the air was still breathable and neither she nor Five had gotten radiation poisoning or whatever side effects those types of bombs had. Earthquake? More possible, but even _she_ would have noticed the entire floor moving. Besides, there were no cracks in the ground to say so unless the epicenter had been elsewhere. Some type of horrible hurricane or twister? Again, possible, but with the state the natural water was in and the lack of flooding- their basement _had_ usually leaked during large storms- it probably wasn’t that.

It also wasn’t any type of snow or freezing event as winds strong enough to fell cities probably didn’t come with them. That caused her to think of other things: _were_ there other survivors? What about the rest of the world? Was it just in Canada? How was she supposed to find out if there was no way to contact other places? The thought that maybe, _maybe_ they weren’t alone and were just out of service brought a spark of hope. But then again, surely such devastation would be on the news and relief organizations would be swarming all over the country trying to help, right? It had been months now and they’d seen no one but each other and heard nothing but wind.

The clatter of rocks being tossed stopped as Lola uncovered a few minimally-damaged cans of food. Using her already-dirty nails to scratch at the caked on dust, she uncovered the label and saw that it was a can of beans. After cleaning off a few more she found peas, carrots, diced tomatoes and- in the oddest find- sauerkraut. She’d never been a fan of the last one since she’d always thought cabbage had a funny texture but she’d take what she could get. _Too bad she’d left Five with the wagon._

Lola continued to pick through the remains of her house, her heart breaking a little each time she found something she remembered. A few scraps of clothing from her favorite shirts, the melted crown of one of her hats, books with pages torn and burnt that she’d read. Some pieces of rubble were too big to move on her own and covered what she assumed were the beds or large pieces of furniture that hadn’t broken under the weight of the crumbling house.

Her hands were dry and cracked and the sharp edges of the concrete cut easily into her skin, leaving her palms bloody and stinging but she still continued looking. A part of her dreaded finding her family’s bodies because after more than 100 days they would certainly be unrecognizable but another part of her _wanted_ to see them because if she didn’t, she knew she’d think that maybe, just maybe, one of them had made it (even if most of her knew this wasn’t so.)

She found a few broken pieces of the knickknacks her mother had set on the tables- glass paperweights, figurines of cats, interesting rocks or pine cones- that had always driven her father mad but he’d let her put them there anyway. She could even hear their arguments if she listened closely.

_“You’ll run out space eventually Diana! What are you even going to do with all of this junk?”_

_“DO? You’re not supposed to do anything! They’re nice to look at! If it was left up to you, this house would empty! Boring!”_

_“Boring? Well at least I’d be organized!” he would pick up one of the items and wave it around, “how’s anyone supposed to clean with this lying everywhere?”_

_“You pick it up! And put him down before you break him.”_

_“Him? This is an object Diana! They don’t have genders!”_

_“They do in other languages! Have you never taken Spanish, Edmund? El Gato!”_

They would continue on for hours sometimes until her father would roll his eyes and place whatever he’d pick up down and grumble incessantly. Neither of her parents would ever actually be angry at the other, though. Just exasperated. Lola supposed that it was a form of love that despite how much it irritated him, her father never _truly_ hated her mother’s habits. It went both ways, too, with her mother being annoyed at how her father- despite wanting to be organized- never cleaned properly.

_“Look at all this dust, Edmund! You call this cleaning?” her mother would start, one of her fingers coated in the stuff from some obscure place._

_Her father would roll his eyes, “no one will look behind the fridge, love.”_

_“I do! And guess what I found?”_

_“Dust?”_

_“Yes! Dust! And do you want to know where else I found it?”_

_“No, but you’ll probably tell me anyway.”_

_“Underneath our dresser! That’s a simple fix! You just need a dry mop! And what about the molding? People will see that! Did you do anything at all?”_

_“Of course! I swept the floors and vacuumed!”_

_“Oh, great, you vacuumed! People will always use a magnifying glass to inspect the carpet but never look directly at the molding!”_

_“Forget about the molding! The floor’s so clean you could eat off it!”_

Her mother would scoff and mutter about _where_ exactly he would be putting his food but eventually she would clean to _her_ standards. Lola never thought she’d miss the sound of her parent’s mundane fighting so much. She closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath as she realized that sooner or later, she’d forget what her parents voices sounded like. She’d forget what they looked like exactly, too. She’d forget how her mother’s eyes would flash when she was angry and her father would be slow to the bait and always, always call her _love_ to try and calm her down.

The memory of her mother’s hugs and her uncle’s teasing would fade and so, too, would the memory of the most annoying boy in the world once he found a way back. She’d be alone for the rest of her life and was probably destined to forget everything that humanity had once been. Lola sat down heavily on a particularly large boulder and scooped up her three books, bringing them close to her chest as she wrapped her arms around them.

She squeezed her eyes shut and began to sob, the thought of being alone _forever_ too bleak and terrible to comprehend. _Five was right_ , she thought _, I probably won’t last long on my own._ She _hated_ that he was right, that he would _always_ be right. The thought of being _wrong_ forever made her sob harder, her fingers clutching desperately at the books as if they would anchor her to some form of safety away from the thoughts of her new, barren existence.

Her fingers brushed the familiar edges of the thickest book and she gave a startled sob-gasp, tilting the pile away to look at the face of the brown-eyed, blonde-haired girl on the cover, the girl she’d always looked up to because she was a survivor. She, Lola, was _not_.

Through blurry eyes, she read the recognizable, comforting title written in lowercase script: _the book thief_. Reading had always made her feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the last update for a bit as I haven't had time to pre-write more and I usually find time to do so hard to come by (school also starts this week- yuck!) Don't worry, Five will come back soon :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I look forward to hearing what you think!


	9. A New Perspective

People think that humanity lasts forever.

Or, at least, past their generation.

Humans are generally wrong about these things.

******* **HERE IS A SMALL FACT*****

Dolores is a mistake

Before we broach this truth, we must first deal with the lies. Humanity was never intended to last until the end of time; people come and go as do civilizations and species. As much as they set themselves apart, humans are just one of the many creatures that pass through the universe (many will be upset or angered by this fact.)

Each generation will think ‘not me’ and allow the next one to deal with the consequences made by the previous. Soon, the consequences pile up until the damage is irreparable.

Finally, despite human’s efforts to be infallible, people are generally- and often- wrong about many things. Not all of them admit to this fault, of course, but the truth is there even if they do not wish to see it.

*****REACTION TO THE AFOREMENTIONED FACT*****

This statement might make you confused.

How is a young girl a mistake?

This will be explained.

You may know of my distaste for survivors. I assure you, my emotions about these things have not influenced this fact. Let me take a step back; perhaps that will convince you of my innocence in the previously mentioned truth.

A new perspective is needed.

The girl, Dolores, was never meant to be a girl. She was, instead, meant to be brought to life by a boy in desperate need of companionship, a figure in his own mind for no one else to see. Somehow, the events lined up differently than they were supposed to and a real Dolores was born.

This is what I have been saying- humans make mistakes. Some large, some small, some positive and some negative. I have been there to see them all for I persist even when life is gone.

Time is a funny thing when you are not a part of it.

I apologize; I have misspoken.

Time is a funny thing when you and it are one.

Still, that is not quite right. I am not time and time is not me, yet we are very nearly the same being. So close, in fact, that one might mistake us for the other- this is easily understood and forgiven.

 _You’re out of time_.

 _It was his time to go_.

These phrases are what blur the lines and confuse those easily befuddled. When you live in a family with death and time, it is easier to tell them apart.

******* **A SMALL THEORY** *******

Time passes quickly. Too quickly, in some opinions. They procrastinate, delay, thinking they have a surplus when really it is only a fixed amount. What makes them do this, I wonder? Humans live for life; that is a simple thing. I have found it terribly difficult to convince some of them to let go. Perhaps this is because some humans believe that they can conquer what they cannot see.

Where was I? Dolores, that’s right. A strange girl, especially for one that wasn’t supposed to exist. After leaving the last known living human, she believed she was destined to live alone for the rest of her life. This in itself is not a terrible concept- at least for me, as it is what I have always done- but for her, there could have been nothing worse. It is a good thing the upcoming line of events changes this.

Now, the boy.

The week of their separation made him think quite a lot of things. More so than he usually did, in fact. As he scratched out numbers and symbols in his dead sister’s book, his mind darted towards and away from the strange dark-haired girl, like a silver fish swimming against a current. He didn’t want to think about her; he had more important tasks, such as getting home.

But not even the most stubborn person in the world can change fate. No matter what timeline or events that occur, Dolores will always, always, meet Number Five, even if the circumstances are never the quite the same.

There were quite a few complex topics discussed but here is what this story boils down to:

  * A girl
  * A boy
  * Some time-traveling
  * A dysfunctional family
  * An organization obsessed with the space-time continuum
  * And an apocalypse



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much shorter than the others (obviously), but I intended it that way. We will be back to our regularly scheduled programming next chapter :) 
> 
> _(I did say The Book Thief mentions, right?)_


	10. Seven Days Without Companionship...

Lola was right; reading _had_ made her feel better as she’d known it would. The familiarity of the words had helped calm her down and clear her head, subduing the panic and grief that had threatened to overwhelm her. She stood and stumbled on her first step, stiff from sitting in the same position for so long.

Night was coming and there was something too eerily uncomfortable about sleeping on top of her old home that forced her to move. The brunette paused at what was once the front door and turned to look at the only home she’d ever known.

There was an empty, deep ache in her chest from the death of her family- _she hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye_ \- but that was expected. She had decided that she really _wouldn’t_ rather see the bodies of her family and had chosen to leave them buried in the rubble, no matter how much they deserved a proper burial and resting place.

She took a breath and spoke aloud, “I have to go now. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better daughter. I’m sorry I didn’t listen when I was supposed to, I’m sorry for never inviting you to read what I was writing. I’m sorry that I didn’t ask you to come down to the basement with me that night. I’m sorry for leaving you here. We all know I’m not a survivor. I enjoy the- the comforts of life too much to do well where they’re absent, but I’ll try,” she said firmly, “I’ll try, for your sake. There’s little hope that I can somehow save you but if there’s a way, I’ll make it happen. So, until there’s a final answer for that, I’ll keep looking for one, which means that I have to try to survive,” Lola paused, wishing more than ever that she _had_ invited her family to the basement the fateful night. There was so much she wanted to tell them- about the end of the world, about her thoughts, about the infuriating boy she was stuck with- but there was no time for that, she instead she finished simply, “goodbye.”

The girl turned away and made her way deeper into the old downtown, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the house as possible. For the first time ever, Lola wished there was school. There would be no more learning in the apocalypse; most of the books hadn’t made it or weren’t important enough to keep. She missed the constant, benign chatter of her classmates and the repetitive days that she’d taken for granted. There was _so much_ that she’d taken for granted.

She missed staying up late and reading under the covers while hearing her parent’s muted laughter from the downstairs, she missed her uncle calling her ‘Sequins’ as much as she hated that nickname, she missed the way his eyes would twinkle and he’d always be the first to make a situation lighter or crack a joke. She even missed her mother telling her what to do and scolding her for _not_ doing it. She missed being in summer and wishing it was fall, she missed being in fall and wishing it was summer. Lola tilted her head up to look at the grey, grey sky, the falling ash hitting and dirtying her goggles.

She wished she could throw something. A heavy object, preferably, right up to that vast, grey expanse. She pictured it cracking as it was hit, fragments and spider-web cracks showing in the smooth, glassy surface. The shards falling around her in a rain, dangerous and sharp. Then, in the aftermath, the familiar blue sky would appear, warm sun hitting her face, fluffy white clouds drifting across as if they’d always been there, hidden under a heavy blanket.

Anger spiked within her, “WHERE’S THE SUN?” she cried up at the sky, “WHAT DID YOU DO WITH IT? I WANT IT BACK!”

Her voice echoed slightly in the empty space.

There was no natural light, just brighter in the day and pitch-black at night. They had to make fires to see, to provide their own warmth. The girl bent and picked up a rock and threw it with all her might farther down the street. Even the _thump_ was muted. She gave a little sob, wishing, _wishing_ , for some sort of temperature. Since she’d come out, there’d been no warmth, no chill (although that was becoming more noticeable now), the temperature just _was_ and she was sick of it.

Despite her frustration, the sky gave no answer and the ash continued to fall. Lola had never been an outside person and now she was regretting it. How many colors there had been in what she was now calling the old world and she’d never noticed them! Now it was beige, tan, black and grey for miles. She’d never been a painter; she was a wordsmith if anything and had taken colors at face value, but now she longed for any sort of vibrance at all.

Her bitterness at the never-changing sky persisted. There was nothing to think about, nothing to do, nothing at all. She’d never thought much about the end of the world, always subconsciously thinking it would be in the billion years scientists predicted. She’d watched some survivor shows and had imagined what it would be like to live like that- she’d always given herself more credit towards her survival skills than what was true since _imagining_ was different than _living-_ but the true end of the world was nothing like what it had been portrayed as.

\--

Lola had never seriously considered what would happen if she died. She’d thought about it, about what it would feel like, who would miss her, her lost opportunity to make her mark on the world, but she’d never _actually_ considered it- what she liked to call the Hamlet Question. Still, that hadn’t stopped her from practice-writing her own Will.

She’d always been a writer, even when she was little and had created her own benign version of her after-life giveaway. She hadn’t owned much, but her clothes would go to her mother, the only other girl she’d been close to. Her books and toys would go to her uncle who had always seemed like an over-large kid. Her room would go to her father who’d liked messing around with parts of the house and improving them, and that was the end of the list. Still, she’d liked looking up the big words and using ‘legal speech’ that she’d found on the internet to make it seem more official. She’d never once thought that she’d have _nothing_ when she died.

 _From ash to ash and dust to dust_ had never seemed more fitting now as she walked through the falling white flakes, her thoughts as dark and angry as the landscape. It had been three days since she’d left Five and her mood hadn’t improved since she’d left her house behind. There wasn’t anything to be happy about at all, so why should she try?

Everything was dead except for her and the boy- who knew if he was even still here? Their paths hadn’t crossed in the short amount of time they’d been separated. He might’ve kept his word, found a way to time travel back home and left her behind without a second thought. (Of course, this is far from the truth but there was no way for her to know that. Perhaps if she had, her outlook would have improved exponentially.)

Lola hadn’t found much in the way of food the last few days either which was probably adding to what was swirling through her mind right now. She still refused to eat bugs and hadn’t had any luck catching rats- although she’d tried, much to her disgust. She figured if she cooked up the rodent it might, at least, taste like chicken. There was no way bugs could do that with all of their legs, even if rats could carry disease- she’d take her chances with the vermin, thank you very much.

She’d thought of more things that she missed while she walked. She missed taking showers whenever she wanted and being _clean,_ she missed the hum of the air conditioning window unit in her room and the whir of the fan. She missed the scratchy feeling of wool and the smoother feeling of her cotton sheets. She missed the sun streaming through her windows of her nearly-useless curtains that would always wake her up in the early hours of the morning unless her eyes were covered.

A part of her wanted to use the remainder of her precious paper and make a list of all the things she’d lost but Lola knew it would surpass the remaining blank space she had. There were too many things she’d never noticed and now longed for to write down. From time to time, she’d speak out loud to herself and verbalize this list her words dissolving, unheard, into the empty air. A few times she’d sung some of her parent’s favorite songs to try and cheer herself up but by the end of each, her mood had almost been _worse_. The pressing quiet alone was nearly enough to make someone go insane.

Without a companion, there was no reason for her to debate anything or show magic tricks. She’d tried a few games of Solitaire with her cards but had realized that watching someone play didn’t equate to knowing how to play.

At night, she sat by her fire and huddled in on herself, eyes focused on the flames in an effort to ignore the creeping dark. If she did sleep, the bright spots, geometric shapes and juggling monkey returned causing her eyes to snap open in panic. The dying orange embers of her fire would remind her that _no, she wasn’t still trapped in her basement._

Sometimes she re-read her books in an effort to forget the pangs of hunger and her exhaustion which worked for the duration of the book but never lasted. (How was she supposed to spend the rest of her _life_ like this? To think that she’d wanted to live a long and fruitful one!)

Lola had even gone through all of her times tables up until twelve times twelve, a sure sign of her never-ceasing boredom if she had to turn to _math._ She’d even tried to recite every counted number that had stuck in her head and recall what it went to.

\--

The fifth day found her digging through another pile of rubble. She wasn’t sure what this one had been, but the if the vast expanse of same-colored structure was anything to go by, it had been a huge building. Some of the piles reached high above her head and she had no hope of moving them. Lola picked up a much smoother piece of fallen building curiously, brushing off the caked-on ash and grime. It was cool to the touch and the pattern was distinctly _not_ concrete or usual building material. She suspected it was marble or something, clueing her in on the fact that this building had once been ornate. It clearly wasn’t the Umbrella Academy house but downtown had had some rather grand buildings, the bank and the theater being two of them.

The brunette had been to the bank many times with her father to deposit the weeks’ accumulation from the store. It had also been the location of the Umbrella Academy’s debut to the world, although neither she nor her father had been there that day. Researching Reginald Hargreeves’ speech seemed like a lifetime ago now when in reality, it had only been three months.

She’d never been in the theater building although her parents had attended several performances. They’d spent the night out on the town while her uncle had stayed behind and taken care of her, the two of them getting up to mischief and breaking most of her mom’s rules- especially the one about bedtime. Then, when she’d gotten old enough, they let her stay home alone and taken her uncle with them. She’d still broken her mom’s rules but had done so alone in the basement which wasn’t nearly as much fun.

If this lot was either of the two places, it was unlikely that she would find anything useful and probably should move on. Still, something drove her to keep shifting the pieces of structure to see what lay beneath- dropping a few of them very quickly depending on what she found. The smell of dead bodies was nearly unnoticeable now that she’d gotten used to it but seeing them- especially after three months- gave her the creeps and she tried to stay as far away as possible.

Her next surprise was when she came across a scratched, solid black surface. A large boulder sat in the middle of the object but after clearing the edges, she immediately recognized the shape of a squashed black piano. Some of the keys were even still intact on the keyboard, not that she could play it- clearly this was the theater. Lola wondered if there had been a performance the night the world ended, _which would explain the bodies_ , she thought suddenly. The girl closed her eyes for a second as the nausea returned before swallowing it back. She shook her head and resumed her search, being even more careful about where she stepped and what she lifted.

Her final find came in the form of the only completely-intact, unharmed instrument on what used to be the stage. The brunette stopped and stared with wide eyes at the completely white violin sitting innocently in the middle of the destruction. _How was it not broken?_ Nothing else had survived the complete demolition while still remaining whole.

The girl approached it as cautiously as if it might explode, bending over to inspect it before even thinking about touching it. It was completely pristine, no ash or grime had settled on the brilliant surface and the paint hadn’t faded in the months of exposure. Her hands hovered over it and she almost yanked them back; there was an _energy_ there.

Lola didn’t know how to describe it or even if what she was feeling was real, but the area immediately around the violin felt as if there was some sort of resistance protecting it, as if it had once been a source of great power. _But that’s not possible, right?_ The only people with powers was the Umbrella Academy as far as she knew and none of them had any sort of relationship with music- except Vanya, but she was ordinary.

The brunette picked up the instrument carefully, the violin practically humming with residual power. She didn’t think it was dangerous, though. It was more of a ghostlike imprint from it’s last use. She’d been a musician as much as she’d been an artist- meaning she wasn’t talented at either- but she knew that this wasn’t _normal_. There was a familiar, inkling feeling that this instrument was a part of a much larger puzzle to which she had no picture, just a piece. Instead of looking at the top view, she was looking at it from the narrow side where nothing completely made sense.

She frowned thoughtfully down at the object in her hands. While she liked riddles and was good at solving them, she preferred to at least know the question as most people did. Here, she had what was probably part of the answer- what else could it be, when everything else was destroyed and the violin was simply resonating with power?- and not even all of that. Lola had never thought much about the cause of the apocalypse, too concerned with her current situation and trying to survive in it to care about what happened in the past, but now the curiosity sparked within her. A riddle would definitely be a good way to occupy her mind even if there was only ever going to be one clue.

After months of _nothing_ , even something as frustrating as this was a relief. The girl sat on the ground, legs folded criss-cross as she stared unblinking at the instrument, her mind turning to lighter thoughts caused by the source of her distraction. It was nearly impossible to figure out anything but just _holding_ something that appeared to not have been touched by the disaster around her was a marvel in itself. Now more than ever she wished she had been born on October first with the other special kids; the gift of psychometry would be infinitely helpful right now.

Her _ordinary_ touch was nothing, yet she still turned the instrument over in her hands and studied it as if her life depended on it. There were hardly any scratches at all on the wood, the strings perfectly intact. From her limited music knowledge and viewing of concerts via Youtube, Lola knew that, depending on how long and intense the concert was, the strings should _at least_ be frayed or look used. There were stronger forces at work here if the violin still looked brand-new (if the humming of old power was anything to go by, at least.) The musician had probably owned the instrument for far longer than just the one night so it should have looked more used than it did. Had the powers glossed over the use of the instrument?

A part of her doubted that it _was_ someone's powers, but what else could it possibly be? She wanted to say _magic_ , but she could already here Five’s voice in the back of her head scoffing at the idea so the only reasonable conclusion was that it _had_ to be one of the miracle babies born on the first. Were there more than six (because this clearly wasn't _Five's_ violin)? Why would one of them want to end the world? Maybe it had been an accident? (A pretty major one but still, the intention might not have been malevolent. Superpowers could always get out of control if superhero movies were anything to go by.) What sort of power resonated with music and was destructive? Sound?

Lola frowned at that. Sound _waves_ maybe, but they’d have to be amplified to an unimaginable amount to destroy the world. And what about the person that had been the cause? Was their body still here or did their powers destroy them? What if the violin was just a coincidence and it was something else entirely?

The brunette sighed and stood, making her way over to where she’d put her books down to search. Picking up her notebook and pulling out the pen tucked into it’s spiral, she flipped to a clean page. At the top, she labeled it _The Apocalypse._ Immediately underneath, she wrote _Clues_. Under that with a bullet, she described the violin and the condition she found it in. On the back of the same page, she wrote _Possible Causes_ and under that, _powers?_ with an added bullet of _sound waves_ as a subitem.

\--

The next two days passed uneventfully after that, filled with her mostly trying to scavenge for food. Lola hadn’t paid attention to the path she was making and had unintentionally- or intentionally, in her subconscious- made a complete circle, her feet taking her back to where she’d last seen Five. She recognized the layout of the school immediately and groaned. _It was going to be so awkward if she saw him_. _Unless he’d left_. She shook her head, not wanting to give him another thought.

The brunette girl sat down on one of the concrete blocks nearby to rest her feet. She’d gotten used to walking almost all day but her hunger was making her tired. _Maybe slightly-moldy sandwiches and bad Twinkies weren’t so bad after all_.

Just as she was contemplating the thought, a voice spoke from behind her, filled with surprise, “you’re still alive?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the wait- school's started and I'm already feeling the pressure. That being said, updates will probably be once a week now depending on how much time I can spare. The good news is that I have the next few chapters planned out- I just have to write them :) 
> 
> Also, I have no idea if Vanya's violin could actually survive the Apocalypse but seeing as it was one of the final shots in S1 and it had been a source of great power, I figured it was likely. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'll see you next chapter!


	11. ...Makes One Weak

“You’re still alive?”

Five’s voice cut through the silence, causing the girl to jump up and turn to face him. _Great_.

“Of course I am. I’m surprised _you_ are,” she shot back, defensive immediately.

He scoffed, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“Maybe because you suffocated under your enormously large ego. Why wouldn’t _I_ be?”

“Maybe because you did something dumb, like trip and fall on your stupid face.”

Lola rolled her eyes, “nice to see you too, you asshole.”

“Talking in the third person is a sure sign of insanity. How’ve you been coping with that, by the way? Crying at night, are you? Scared of the dark?” he taunted.

She glared at him, ignoring the prickle of hurt, “better than when I’m with _you_ anyway. I don’t see how your siblings put up with you before you left-“

“- _don’t_ bring them into this,” he interrupted her, his tone going immediately darker.

“Whatever. Look, I’m only stopping by, not staying. We clearly don’t need each other.”

“Then why’d you come this way? You were obviously looking for me.”

“You wish. I’m surprised you haven’t left yet.”

“Believe me, I’m trying to. I was hoping _not_ to see you.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

They fell into a tense silence, both of them in a stalemate for leaving first. _It was almost ironic, really,_ Lola thought, _this is exactly like those boyfriend/girlfriend conversations “no, you hang up first,” “no, you!” except it’s the opposite._

Five was the first to turn away, sneering slightly at their ridiculousness. During whatever amount of time they’d been apart- he couldn’t keep track of the days like she could- he’d thought more of the girl than he cared to let on, almost _missing_ her irritating behavior. He’d say that almost anything was better than being _alone_ , but he sucked it up and doubled his efforts to get home. Now, standing in front of her again, he was reminded of exactly how annoying she was. He moved carefully away from her, trying not to favor either of his legs too much. Unfortunately, she was far more observant than he gave her credit for.

“Why’re you limping?” Lola asked, unwillingly concerned for the boy. Some part of her cursed at the fact that she hadn’t kept her mouth shut.

“None of your business,” he called back, slowly making his way down the road.

She rolled her eyes and at only a slight jog, she was able to catch up to him, “yeah, ‘cause you’re a big, strong man and who doesn’t need any help, right? How’re you gonna get back to your family if you die first?”

“It’s not going to kill me.”

“If it gets infected it might, or if there’s internal bleeding.”

“What’s it to you? I’m just going to leave you behind anyway.”

“If I help you, you could repay me by taking my with you,” she bargained.

“No deal, I can handle this on my own.”

“Have fun being dead, then.”

“Thanks, I won’t.”

Lola sighed, “you’re impossible, you know that right? I can’t in very good conscience leave you to die.”

“No one’s asking you to help,” Five shot back, “I’m not gonna undo months of work just to add another person to my travel.”

“Work? What work? You literally just said nothing’s worked.”

“Just because it hasn’t worked yet doesn’t mean it won’t- besides, I can repurpose the equations.”

“You need me,” she insisted, “even _I_ can admit that this last week was nearly impossible alone. How’re you gonna solve your equations if you go insane?”

“I don’t _need_ you,” the boy scoffed, “and it’s not helping your case that you sound like my father. I already hear him- I don’t need your nagging as well.”

She paused, “what d’you mean you already hear him?” _was he going crazy already?_

“It doesn’t matter,” he tried to brush it off, “clearly our partnership isn’t going to work, so you don’t need to stay.”

Lola frowned, not willing to give up on him that easily. Even if he was the most irritating person she’d ever met, he was all she had left of humanity _and_ he was injured, “how’d you hurt your leg?” she decided on asking again.

He huffed, “you don’t give up easily, do you? Fine, I was surprised by a piece of metal-“

“ _Metal_?” she asked, her voice pitching higher, “that means you’re probably bleeding-“

“-And there’s nothing we can do about it. I don’t see a doctor’s office anywhere and the rudimentary doctor skills I have aren’t going to help, either.”

 _Was there anything he couldn’t do?_ she smirked slightly, _oh yeah, time travel back._ Lola shook off the thought, “well, you’re in luck ‘cause I have a bit more experience than you do.”

Five’s voice held visible surprise when he said, “you do?”

“Not in practice, but I’ve read quite a few survival books-“

He rolled his eyes, “I knew it. You can’t trust them, you know-“

“ _Not_ fictional ones, you idiot. Actual guides, out of interest,” she turned and pointed to a relatively large piece of rubble, “sit.”

He sighed, “you’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope. Even if you don’t accept my deal, I’d rather one of us gets back alive.”

With another exaggerated breath, Five made his way to the indicated place and sat down, crossing his arms and avoiding her gaze. Lola knelt next to his leg and carefully pulled the cloth of the torn sock away, revealing a slightly bloody, not-too comfortable looking gash. She sucked in a breath.

“What’s the verdict, doc? Am I going to live?”

_Out of all the times he tries to be funny._

“You’ll live, I think. Hold on.” Remembering what she’d read, Lola wiped her hands as best she could on her clothes- not that it did much good, as they were as filthy as the rest of her- in an effort to clean her hands, not wanting to waste precious water.

“Have you applied pressure?”

“What do you think, that I’m an idiot?”

“Well, you _are_ the injured one.”

“Of course I applied pressure.”

The brunette rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the injury, gently poking at it with her fingers. To his credit, the boy didn’t so much as wince, although it surely couldn’t have been painless.

“You’re in luck, it’s not too deep and the bleeding’s mostly stopped. I think you’ll be able to walk normally in a few days.”

“What a relief.”

Lola ignored him and opened her water canteen, carefully pouring it over the wound.

“You _are_ stupid,” came the boy’s rebuke, “wasting water like that?”

“I don’t need your commentary, thanks,” she answered, “and what, d’you want it to get infected? Look, it already looks better.”

Once she’d cleaned away the dried blood and grime, he had to admit that the original- hidden- worry he’d had over it eased.

“You got anything to wrap it?”

“Oh yeah, let me head over to the pharmacy down the street.”

She sighed, “I’m only trying to help, y’know. Do you really have to be such a prick all the time?”

“I don’t want to get attached,” the boy said bluntly.

“Yes, because basic decency means we’ll be joined at the hip in two seconds.”

“Well, that’s the next step isn’t it? I’m nice to you, you’re nice to me, we become friends and then I have to take you with me. It’s best if none of that happens. Who knows how we’ll mess up the timeline if there’s two of you in the past.”

 _He had a point_ , Lola realized. She hadn’t actually thought of that- she’d never admit it to his face, though.

“I don’t see what you’re worried about. You seem like the type of person who could drop a friend in less time than it takes to make one.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re an open book, Five. Literally. I’ve read your entire story in your sister’s autobiography. You’ve always been secretive and held yourself above your siblings.”

She was blunt, like him. He had to give her credit for that, at least.

“That’s only from one person’s perspective, not from the source itself,” he pointed out.

Lola stood since there was really nothing left to do for his leg but keep it clean and hope for the best. She pulled herself up on the boulder beside him, “alright, then what does the source say?”

He sighed, “Vanya always did know me best out of all our siblings.”

The brunette nodded in acceptance. She hesitated for a moment, then asked, “what did you mean by you hear your father’s voice?”

Five almost visibly slumped, “have you ever had an idea that you _knew_ you could achieve, but maybe just weren’t ready for it yet? And when you talked about it with your parents, they said no but you did it anyway?”

Lola frowned in thought, trying to think of a situation.

“Maybe?” she said doubtfully, “I mean, this one time when I was ten, I wanted to try some of my dad’s liquor since he and my uncle always drank it. _I_ knew I’d be fine if I tried it, but then when I asked, my dad said to wait ‘til I was older. Then, when my uncle was home with me and my parents were out, he let me try some and it was actually pretty gross. I think that’s the only thing close to what you said.”

Behind his mask, Five’s lips quirked up in an amused smile at her story. He really hadn’t expected anything less from her in the little that he knew about her tendencies. He sobered quickly as he resumed talking, “did he say ‘I told you so?’”

The brunette shook her head, “he laughed at my reaction and then made me promise to never tell my parents.”

“You got off lucky,” he sighed, “well, for me, it was time travel. _I_ knew I could do it and I had all the math, but my father refused to let me try it. He always had these ridiculous excuses for why we couldn’t do things so I just assumed this was another. Well, it turns out he was right. I wasn’t ready and look where we are now. As for what I hear, it’s him saying _I told you so._ ”

“He was a pretty terrible father, huh?” Lola asked, then added hurriedly, “I’m not trying to poke fun at your family, it’s just what I’ve read from your sister’s book, especially since Vanya was always told she was ordinary.”

“He certainly wasn’t an A+ parent,” Five admitted, “but I wouldn’t say he was a terrible father. I think I gave him such a hard time without ever understanding why. He was always going on about how we’d save the world from an apocalypse someday and now look where we are.”

“D’you think your siblings tried to save the world?”

“They did,” his voice was quiet when he spoke, “they tried to save it together. I- well, their bodies-“

 _Oh_. Her heart suddenly went out to him. He wasn’t one to express emotion or to share information, so this was a lot coming from him. _To have found his siblings-_ she was lucky, really, to _not_ have found her family. She couldn’t imagine how much more her grief would’ve hit her had she seen them.

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” she said softly, “at least they put in the effort and now you can go back and save them.”

Five tried to find a prickle of anger at her pity, but there was none. _Maybe it was because he knew it wasn’t pity, but sympathy._ He gave a sort of self-mocking laugh, “I can’t even do that right.”

“You haven’t done it yet, but that doesn’t matter,” Lola said immediately, “you can take as long as you want in the future to go back and fix the past.”

“How am I supposed to fix it if I’m an old man?”

“Well, don’t take that long.”

He almost wasn’t surprised at how quickly their conversation had turned back to it’s usual banter, although it seemed more- _lighthearted_ now. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d told her all of that; it was quite unlike him to overshare, but maybe these past seven days (according to the girl, anyway), had made him weaker than he cared to admit.

“I’ll be sure to leave tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Lola paused suddenly, remembering the artifact she’d found in the rubble of the old theater. As soon as she’d seen the boy, her meager belongings had been quickly forgotten, now lying at her feet. She was surprised he hadn’t noticed the violin. A part of her wondered if she should tell him, but another part that spoke louder reminded her that _he’d_ just shared more than he ever had before.

She jumped down and bent to pick up her items.

“What are you _doing_?” Five asked immediately from above.

 _Was it just her or was that a slight note of hurt in his voice?_ Lola shook off the thought. Probably just her.

“I’m showing you something, idiot.”

Standing, she lifted the white violin to him and the boy reached for it only to yank his hands back, “what the hell?”

“I found this downtown, in the old theater. It’s the only intact thing in this entire world, so I figured it was important. If you wanna stop the apocalypse, then here’s a clue.”

The boy stared at the instrument, then at his hands. _Where had that power come from?_ It was faint, but definitely not something he imagined. He took the item from her carefully, half surprised it didn’t burn him or explode in his hands. The brunette climbed back up onto the boulder.

“This isn’t the only intact thing,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

Handing the instrument back to her, he pulled out the still slightly-bloody eyeball from his pocket, “I found this in Luther’s hand,” he explained flatly.

Lola’s own eyes widened at the glass eye, slightly creeped out by the dead, brown iris. She placed the violin in her lap and took it from him carefully, turning the sphere over in her hands. On the back, there was a word: _Meritech,_ along with a series of numbers.

“Are those-“

“Serial numbers? Yeah,” Five said, “I’m thinking whoever lost the eye causes the apocalypse since it was in my brother’s hand when he died.”

“What about the violin, then?” the brunette asked, holding the two items up together.

He frowned, “you said you found that in the theater?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s nowhere near the Academy. I’m thinking that’s the place where the world ends since my siblings were there.”

“Well, I’ve already started a chart- here, hold these,” the girl handed the two items to him, pulling out her notebook and flipping it open, “read what I have.”

The boy did as instructed, brow furrowing at the information, “you think it’s superpowers?”

“Did you feel the same thing I did with the violin?”

“Well yeah, but amplified sound waves? None of my siblings have that ability.”

“What if there’s more of you? There can’t only be seven.”

“I’m sure my father would’ve gotten them if he could-“

“But what if he couldn’t? He’s a billionaire with resources, yeah, but not even _he_ has access to the entire world, surely. Your siblings are from all different countries, it’s a good bet he missed some.”

“But what does the eye have to do with it, then? And my siblings, they weren’t at the theater-“

“Maybe the theater is the second location? The threat could’ve moved origin areas, like a hurricane moving up the coast,” Lola pointed out, “the Academy doesn’t necessarily have to be the end-all-be-all of the world, even if it is for _you_.”

He shook his head, “it was probably a single blast that ended everyone’s life, and whoever caused it had one fake eye.”

“Well, we’ll keep both theories until we know for certain,” Lola allowed, knowing they were both too stubborn to let something like this go, “I’ll write it down.”

Under _Clues_ , she added _glass eye_ along with the location it was made and serial number. Then on the other side of the page, _two separate threats?,_ the next line: _one-eyed person? (brown eyes.)_

“Well, that narrows it down to about ninety percent of the world,” she said with false cheerfulness.

“At least we know it’s not us.”

“I’m not Helen of Troy, Five. My face could never launch a thousand ships and end the world.”

“I don’t even remember what you look like.”

“Ouch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a dialogue-heavy chapter! These always give me the most worry since I have to come up with original lines for Five and keep him in character- I guess it gives me good practice. We get even more movement on the Dolores/Five front next time, so stay tuned for that :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading and feel free to let me know what you think!


	12. Acceptance

“We’ve gotta get you home,” Lola said, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

It was a few hours after their initial meeting and both had sat in silence for some time thinking about their own problems. Lola had come to the conclusion that out of the two of them, Five had the best chance of stopping this thing.

“I don’t get your sudden change of heart,” Five admitted, “unless you’re going to try and sabotage my math?”

The girl snorted, “you’ve said before I’m not smart enough to understand, so there’s no way I could. I’ve just been thinking that if you _do_ stop the apocalypse, you’re inadvertently saving a version of me, changing the timeline, and thus erasing _me_ -me from existence.”

“You’d do that to yourself?”

She shrugged, “I won’t remember it. Besides, it’s better than living here the rest of my life.”

“How’re you going to help me if you can’t do the math?”

“I could keep you from becoming insane,” she suggested, “and I’m good at recognizing patterns in numbers, so I could check your math for you-“

“-that’s not exactly how _checking my math_ works,” the boy said mockingly, “you’ve got to redo the problem-“

“-and make sure you’ve carried your negatives and added properly, I know, thanks. Just ‘cause I can’t solve time travel equations doesn’t mean I can’t do basic algebra. Just let me help, Five. It’ll get you home faster and you can completely ignore my suggestions if you don’t agree with them but I need to keep myself occupied.”

“You do know that this means you’re going to have to stick around, right? And put with my apparent ‘assholery’ as you’ve put it.”

The brunette sighed, “yeah, I know, but the faster we get you home the sooner the impending doom for my past self will be gone, so I can put up with you for a bit longer, I suppose.”

“A bit longer? How long have we been here?”

“Three and a half months,” the girl answered promptly, “approximately one hundred-six and a half days.”

“You weren’t joking about the counting thing,” the boy said, almost bemused.

“Nope.”

**One Month Later**

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get back?” Lola asked as they settled down for the night.

“Stop the apocalypse, idiot.”

She rolled her eyes, “after that, I meant. You’ll have all the time in the world. _I_ would certainly take a shower first, brush my teeth. And sleep, definitely sleep.” She didn’t mention her _real_ desire: find her parents and make sure they were _really_ okay. That touchy-feely stuff would shut him down immediately.

“What’s the point of wishing for things you can’t have?”

She gave a heavy sigh, “you’re such a pessimist. Surely you want to do _something_?”

“I’m more worried about getting back. I can think about that _after_ once we’ve stopped this.”

The brunette froze at his use of _we._ Sure, they’d made more of an effort to get along in the past few weeks to solve this time-travel business but she hadn’t expected a plural from him yet.

“I think you mean _you_ , idiot,” she corrected.

“Right, of course. I was merely giving you credit for the math.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Yeah you have- remember that decimal I got wrong?”

“Only because that damn book is so tiny. You need a better place to spread out,” she quickly returned.

“We keep moving, there’s not a better place to write. It’s not like I can go buy paper.”

They lapsed into their familiar, strangely comfortable silence. Lola stared up at the dark expanse of nothingness, faintly illuminated by the remainders of their fire. She hadn’t had a good, solid sleep in weeks- not with the occasional hunger pangs, persistent thirst or the creeping dark that still haunted her and stole what little sleep she caught. She suspected the same went for Five just different reasons.

Always one to speak first, the girl asked her next question, “why don’t you use my name, Five?”

“What?”

“You never address me by anything, it’s usually just ‘idiot’ or something like that.”

“It’s ‘cause that’s what you are,” he answered easily.

Having grown used to his behavior, she only rolled her eyes, “but I call you Five. You’ve never called me Lola.”

“It’s a dumb name.”

“It’s not!”

“You’re more of a Dolores if anything. But I’ve found that calling people by their names means you get attached faster and that’s what I’m trying to avoid,” it was easier to tell the truth when he couldn’t see her.

“What, so if you ever say my name, that means you’re gonna be in love with me or something?” the girl joked.

“Or something,” he agreed.

“You’re impossible.”

“That’s all you, idiot.”

\--

At what they called ‘lunch’ a few days later- which was really just a time to stop and rest their feet- Lola came to another decision.

“Here,” the girl said bluntly, holding out her notebook.

Five looked up from his sister’s autobiography, “what’s this?” he asked in his usual ‘ _I’m busy’_ tone.

“It’s for you, dimwit. You need paper, I have paper. Just call me Office Dolores.”

She couldn’t see his expression but his silence told her he hadn’t gotten her joke, “there’s a home office store called-“ she sighed, “never mind. Just take the damn paper.”

“What about your autobiography?”

The brunette startled, “how d’you know about that?”

“I read it, idiot. Besides, your constant rambling annoys me so much I can’t tune it out so I have to pick up some things.”

 _Oh_. For some reason, that sat pleasantly well with her. She shook herself, “you need it more than I do. No one’s gonna read my story once I’m dead, so the best use is for you to properly do your math. That tiny space can’t be good for your eyes.”

He took it from her hesitantly, “oh, well, thanks I guess.”

\--

“We’re in August right now, yeah?” Five asked as they walked.

The girl nodded, “yeah, why?”

“I don’t get why there’s an early cold front coming in. Surely you’ve noticed it?”

“Oh, no, I just thought it was the AC finally working,” the brunette responded sarcastically, “of course I’ve noticed it. What about it?”

“It’s not supposed to get chilly in August, much less June and July so I’m figuring whatever happened threw the seasons out of whack and winter’s going to be brutal,” Five reasoned.

“I’m not looking forward to that,” Lola admitted, “food’s already hard to find, but in the cold and buried under snow?”

The boy nodded in agreement, “we’re going to have to figure something out. I can spacial jump all over the place but distance isn’t going to help when I’m running low on fuel and don’t have a convenient way to get under the snow.”

She frowned, “too bad we can’t skip winter altogether. I mean, pre-apocalypse, the cold months were my favorite but right now they’re terribly annoying.”

“And you know how bad Canadian winters can get,” Five said.

“Yeah,” Lola allowed, “too bad we can’t just time travel right over them into spring.”

It took her a few moments to realize that the boy was no longer walking beside her and she turned, “Five?”

“You’re a genius!”

“I am?” it was much more gratifying to be called a genius when an _actual_ genius said it, even if she had no idea why.

The boy quickly closed the distance to stand next to her again and began to move his arms to help explain his points as he always did, “I can’t get back to the _past_ , right?” Five said, “but nothing says I can’t get to the future- after all, I had no problem getting here.

“Think of it like this,” he explained, stretching out his arm to its full length, “this is 2002, when I disappeared,” he put his hands flat against each other before drawing his right to the other side, “this is the timeline that I disappeared from, and here’s present day. Now, to get _back,_ I have to slip myself in at a precise point,” he placed his right pointer finger above his left hand, “because the past is already set in stone, which is why I’m having trouble. _But_ ,” he placed his right hand in its original position and used his left to make a series of jumps past it, “if I keep moving into the future, anything’s possible and I won’t have to worry about messing it up, since we’re the only ones left. It’s an entirely plausible idea!”

Lola frowned, “that works for you, but what about me? You said your time travel only feels like seconds to you when it’s years for everyone else, so-“

“-I’ll just take you with me, idiot.”

“You literally _just_ called me a genius,” she said with a small smile before it disappeared, “but have you done that before? And what about when you go back, I’ll be inexperienced-“

“-we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Five said dismissively, “and no, I haven’t done it with anyone but myself, but I can practice by spacial jumping you before the real thing.”

“Great, that makes me feel _so_ much better,” Lola said, rolling her eyes, “but I guess anything beats more winters than I have to bear. What about using too much energy? You’ve said you can’t jump because it takes too much fuel, surely time travelling with be even more?”

“The pros outweigh the cons,” the boy said easily.

\--

Five really should have been trying to get what sleep he could but he was using the remaining light of the fire to transfer his equations into the blank, open space of the new notebook. New to him, really- the girl’s writing still covered the first half, leaving the back half free for him.

He sighed, putting down the pen in order to stretch his cramping hand, eyes moving over their small encampment. The girl was curled up on the ground sleeping fitfully, the fire was burning out, giving way to darkness and thei- _his_ little red wagon sat in its usual place on the other side, blocking the wind. Glancing over to the girl, his eyes fell on the now-familiar, thick book that she carried with her everywhere.

A confused frown settled over his features, the riddle of why she carried the book never puzzling itself out for him. _There was a reason as to why he hated those damned things_. Pushing aside his math in favor of curiosity, Five leaned over and picked up the girl’s book, the weight odd in his hands after so long of lifting lighter, non-book things. Studying it, he saw that the pages were well-worn and clearly used, the cover rumpled and it had a tear in the upper right-hand corner.

On the front, it read _The Book Thief,_ showing a picture of a girl with curly blonde hair and features that were indistinct in the dying fire. He’d never seen her without this book, bar when he first pulled her from the basement. Thumbing quickly through the pages, Five wondered why it was so important to her to lug it around in this barren wasteland.

Of course, he had his own special book with his equations but that book had a _purpose_ , a way to possibly bring him home and, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself, a reminder of his family and all that he’d lost. The current one in his hands had none of those capabilities. It was _just_ a book. Taking a quick glance at the girl to make sure she was still sleeping, the boy opened the cover. The first-page print was too tiny for him to read in the dim lighting so he flipped to the next one, the title page.

Past the dedication came the first section, which he could see and which read _Prologue-_ a mountain range of rubble. The next line explained the section _in which our narrator introduces: himself-the colors-the book thief_. The first chapter caught his attention immediately: _Death and chocolate._

Of all things to put together, why that title? Another riddle he had no idea how to solve but the chapter probably explained it. The shadows of the fire blurred the majority of the words but the layout of the first page was strange and unlike any book he’d ever read with short and what he presumed to be choppy sentences. Five gave a little snort, _of course she wouldn’t read a ‘difficult’ book._

Flipping forward, he was surprised to find that the chapter only lasted two and a half pages, ending in a bulleted list. If he squinted and tilted the book _just so_ , he could read what it said:

_It’s just a small story, really, about, amongst other things:_

  * _A girl_
  * _Some words_
  * _An accordionist_
  * _Some fanatical Germans_
  * _A Jewish fist fighter_
  * _And quite a lot of thievery._



_I saw the book thief three times._

_The book thief must be the girl on the cover,_ the boy thought, turning back to the front, _and she must have grown up during the 1940s, with the mentions of fanatical Germans._ That still didn’t explain why the _real_ girl on the ground next to him clung to this book like a life line, unless it was just because it was her last anchor to her old life. Of course, he could ask her but that would require initiating conversation- something that was her job.

Five had been surprised when she’d kept her promise and stayed, even after his leg had healed and he no longer needed her. A part of him- a very _small_ part, mind you- was glad that she had, even if she got on his nerves with her endless chattering that shifted into moody silences as he either didn’t respond or something reminded her of something she missed.

He’d never bothered to ask her what she’d gone through during her time trapped in the basement and he really didn’t care- that would only slow him down in his efforts to get home. Still, it was curious to see her so brave during the day but so… _not_ during the night. She didn’t cry as much anymore, which was a relief. That had been exceptionally irritating. Still, she somehow managed to continue to confuse and frustrate him, making references to things he didn’t understand and talking about pointless subjects like what she _missed_.

In his opinion, wishing for things that could never be was a waste of time and he knew how precious time was. He’d come to terms with the apocalypse early on in their stay seeing as there was no time for any sort of mental or emotional breakdown like the girl had done. It was best to focus on the future and stick to the plan of getting home and stopping this, no matter the cost.

Putting the book down, Five turned back to his equations, reminded of his ultimate goal. He shook his head in irritation at himself for getting distracted. _Who cared why she liked the silly book so much?_ He didn’t, certainly. It wasn’t like he’d picked it up to examine it in order to better understand her or find common ground- that was completely ridiculous. Huffing with annoyance, the boy turned back to his own book and continued to work. These equations that he was currently working on were in preparation for their winter jump, seeing as he needed more time to figure out how to jump with two people.

After he ensured their survival of the first obstacle, he’d go back to working on the equations for the way home; these had to be adjusted slightly for each winter they skipped which would be annoying but overall a good investment. This was also math he was familiar with, seeing as he had always jumped with only himself before. Once he got the right numbers, he could easily leave the girl behind and return to his proper time with his siblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much for your comments throughout the book! I know I don't always get to them right away but I have system where I reply to them right before I post- that definitely doesn't mean I appreciate them any less; I'm just the type of person who likes to have a routine which is why it takes me up to a week to reply. 
> 
> Second, I've decided to make some of these chapters a bit lighter in mood since realistically, grief can come and go. Now that they've been in the apocalypse for a few months, I think they're starting to get into a normal adjustment time- but it's not something that will last forever. 
> 
> Finally, I did say that this was going to be a slow burn, so it will be _quite_ awhile before any real feelings are felt, especially since Five is so analytical and doesn't focus on emotions as much. 
> 
> I think that's it, so I hope you enjoyed the chapter and feel free to let me know what you thought of it!


	13. Game Time

“Let’s play a game,” Lola said conversationally one evening.

As expected, the boy rolled his eyes, “no, thanks.”

“You didn’t even hear what the game was!”

“I’m sure it’s pointless and not worth my time,” he responded without looking up.

Ignoring him, the girl said, “it’s called _what’s the most complicated word you know?_ I played it with my family all the time on road trips,” some of the enthusiasm left her voice as the memories returned.

“That’s a terrible name for a game,” Five commented, “it’s much too long.”

“It’s complicated,” she corrected him, “hence the point of the game. The title reflects the idea. Let’s play- you go first,” her tone was forcefully cheerful as she tried to lighten the mood.

Five gave a long, drawn-out sigh, “pulchritudinous.”

She grinned more genuinely, “you also have to define it, since there’s no point in knowing big words unless you know how to use them.”

The boy gave another roll of his eyes, “it’s an adjective, it means beautiful.”

“There you go,” Lola said encouragingly, “now ask me.”

He shot her a glare this time but she looked at him expectantly, unphased, “what’s the longest word you know?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Most complicated,” came the immediate correction, “and it’s antidisestablishmentarianism. It’s one of the longest words in the English language and means a position that advocates that a state Church should continue to receive government patronage. It’s got twenty-eight letters,” she added proudly, “I counted them.”

“I’m sure you did,” came the boy’s dry reply, “we’ve gone two rounds, are we done now?”

Her eyes narrowed at him, “you’re no fun.”

“Glad you caught on to that early, I’m working.”

“You’re _always_ working.”

“I told you not to sabotage my equations and preventing me from working _is_ sabotaging them.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to take a break. In fact, it might help sharpen your brain since you’re focusing on something other than math. Math makes you _in_ sane, whereas words make you sane.”

“I’m not insane,” he huffed, “fine, one more round. Ask me.”

Lola couldn’t help but feel pleased, “what’s the most complicated word you know?”

“Chutzpah,” Five said, correctly pronouncing the word, “noun, extreme self-confidence and audacity.”

The brunette let out one of the first laughs since they arrived in the apocalypse, causing the boy to look at her curiously, “of _course_ you’d know that word,” she giggled slightly, “it describes you exactly!”

He shot her an irritated look, “I don’t have to play this dumb game, you know. I could go back to work.”

She tried to quell her remaining giggles, feeling better than she’d had in _months_. Maybe playing old family games was a good, not-sad way to remember the lost times. Shaking off her thought, she nodded, “alright, ask me.”

“Aren’t you going to apologize?”

“Nope!”

“Whatever. What’s the most complicated word you know?” he dragged out the question dramatically.

Lola frowned thoughtfully, “orphic. Adjective, mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding. It’s a six-letter word.”

She startled slightly when the boy looked up from his book to look at her curiously, “of course you’d know _that_ word,” he remarked.

“Why?”

“’Cause it describes you exactly,” he said nonchalantly, turning back to his work without another thought now that the game was complete.

The girl’s eyes didn’t leave him, however. _He thought she was mysterious and entrancing?_ Hidden by her mask, a small smile curved on her lips.

\--

The sun was just starting to set on the day that marked their sixth-month mark in the apocalypse. Lola was sitting cross-legged on the ground, looking up at Five, who was sitting on a cinder block. In an unfamiliar switch of their positions, the renewed-purpose notebook was sitting in the girl’s lap, her head bent as she scanned the boy’s numbers for their winter jump.

“Five?”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes at his tone, used to it by now, “before you left, did your father ever say anything about time travel?”

He shrugged, “not much. Just some dumb riddle that made no sense.”

She perked up, her head lifting to look at the boy, “a riddle? What was it?”

“Some metaphor for time travelling that’s useless.”

“Can you at least tell me so I can figure it out?”

He scoffed, “why would _you_ be able to figure it out when I couldn’t?”

“’Cause I like riddles and you don’t.”

Five blinked in surprise, “how d’you know that?”

“’Cause you told me, idiot. I can remember things too, you know. You don’t have to be a genius to recall important stuff,” her gaze had landed back on the paper, determined to catch an error to rub it in the boy’s face.

 _She thought him not liking riddles was important?_ He rolled his eyes, not agreeing with what _she_ classified as important. Time-travel theories were important; dumb things like that weren’t.

“Fine. He said ‘ _a spacial jump is trivial compared to the unknowns of time travel. One is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of the freezing water and reappearing as an acorn.’_ I can’t make any sense of it, so don’t feel bad if you can’t, either” his tone was deceptively kind.

She snorted, “of course you remember it word-for-word. And don’t worry, I’ve never met a riddle I couldn’t figure out. I just need a few days.”

“My concerns over you finding the answer have been assuaged,” he said sarcastically, “I’m so glad you relieved me of them.”

Lola looked up and shot him a grin that he couldn’t see, “happy to help!” she said with faux-cheerfulness before turning back to the equations.

\--

“Have you ever thought about time travel?” the girl asked awhile later.

Five shot her an ‘are you stupid’ look, “do I even need to answer that question?”

She flushed slightly, glad he couldn’t see her face because of the mask, “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant more in theory than in practice since people have all sorts of different ideas about time travel.”

He shrugged, “nothing in particular since I can do more than theorize about it.”

“Well, d’you think it’s linear or cyclical?”

“Linear, of course. My spacial jumps are linear, so why shouldn’t time be?”

“Maybe that’s your problem, then. You’re thinking about it all wrong. It’s obviously cyclical.”

He scoffed, “and what gives you that idea?”

“Well, think of the seasons- they go around and around. Think of life cycles- you’re born, you live, you die. It's the circle of life.”

“But your life is linear, you don’t get to live another cycle once you die. The seasons can be linear, too, if you think about it as fall-winter-spring-summer.”

“Okay, fine,” Lola said, “maybe it can be both. I mean, look at the acorn from the riddle. It can keep reproducing in a cycle that’s not linear.”

“But it’s called a continuum for a reason,” Five pointed out, “that in itself shows that the relationship is linear.”

“But maybe time isn’t a continuum. Maybe it’s a random repetition of moments!” she argued, “I mean, take us for example. I lived a normal life until the apocalypse, then it came and now we live like this. That’s obviously linear. But then you can turn it into a repetition. Say you time travel to some time before 2019. I live my same life, the apocalypse happens- barring you don’t stop it- and we’re right back where we started from. That’s a repetition of moments.”

“But it’s not exactly random,” the boy said, “it’s a linear timeline- there’s a clear start and end point.”

“It’s like what comes first, the chicken or the egg,” she decided, “which could both be cyclical or linear.”

“You’re the one arguing with a time-traveler.”

“Not a very good one, clearly, so I arguably have as much knowledge about time as you do.”

“That’s not how it works,” the boy shot back, “you don’t know the first thing about the practical part.”

“I’m learning,” the brunette said, pointing to the notebook, “I already know more than when I started.”

He snorted, “hardly- looking for patterns in numbers isn’t the same as actually understanding the equations and how they work.”

“Oh, so like you do?”

Five glared at her, “are you ever gonna let me live that down?”

“As long as you’re an arrogant asshole about it? Nope!”

\--

Five sighed for what felt like the hundredth time as Lola shuffled her cards.

“I’m sure they’re well and truly mixed,” he said with irritation, glancing up briefly from his book to glare at the girl.

She gave him an almost apologetic look that was lost in the shadows of the fire, “sorry. It’s a nervous habit.”

“Nervous? What, you’re not nervous about the _dark_ , are you? You know it can’t hurt you.”

Lola didn’t answer and slid the cards together again, avoiding his gaze.

He exhaled forcefully again and put down his book, unable to concentrate with the constant ruffle of paper, “have you ever played poker?”

The question caught the brunette by surprise and her head jerked up to look at him, “no?” the answer came out as more of a question.

A smile flickered across his face, hidden by his mask, “I used to play with my siblings,” came the surprising response, “Klaus was best to play with but he cheated. Ben was good too and he followed the rules. Allison usually threw a fit when she lost.”

The girl stared at him with wide, blue eyes, admittedly shocked at his sudden openness, “what about Luther, Vanya and Diego?” she asked tentatively, not wanting him to shut her down immediately.

He shrugged, “Luther never played and usually ratted us out to dad. Vanya wasn’t really included but liked to watch. Diego was pretty good but he got bored easily,” he explained, “it was one of the only forms of entertainment that could be easily hidden from our father- you know how quickly you can hide cards in your pocket.”

“Did you guys bet on anything?” Lola asked, curiosity getting the better of her. Five was usually so closed off that any shred of information about _him_ \- besides his powers- was almost as rare as a nugget of gold.

“We didn’t have much to bet on,” the boy admitted, “but there were little things- and Klaus was always trying to get us to play strip poker,” there was a hint of amusement in his voice when he said that, “but usually we just had lost pennies or played for nothing.”

“I’ve never played poker,” the girl said, “my mom would never let me, though I’m sure my uncle would’ve if I’d asked,” she hesitated, “d’you want to play now? You’d have to teach me but I’m pretty good at learning since cards have to do with numbers.”

Five stood from his seat on the piece of fallen building and moved closer to the girl, sitting down about an arm’s length away from her. The fire illuminated the empty space in front of them and shown on their hands as Lola transferred her deck over to the boy.

A few hours later after several rounds of instruction and game play, Five threw the cards down in frustration, “I can’t believe you’ve won _again_!”

Lola grinned at him, “I told you I’m a counter.”

“It’s got to be beginner’s luck,” he grumbled, folding the cards together.

She laughed slightly, “I thought you wouldn’t believe in luck,” she said in amusement, “seeing as how it’s very unscientific- unless, of course, you’re just a sore loser like your sister.”

“ _I’m_ the one who usually wins,” he huffed, “there’s no other explanation for why you haven’t lost a round.”

The girl rolled her eyes despite him not being able to see it, “I literally _just_ said why. I’ve never lost a game of Go Fish with my uncle- a game that’s mostly luck unless you can count and estimate how many cards are in the deck or have been played.”

“But that’s probability!” the boy protested, “surely you should be better at math than you are if you’ve got those types of skills.”

She shrugged, “it’s just like how some people are good at geometry but terrible at algebra and some are the other way around. _Most_ people can’t be good at everything,” she added, knowing that Five would immediately shoot back that _he_ was.

\--

**_2012_ **

The car was silent except for the ‘60s-80s radio station that was currently playing a Beetles hit. Edmund sat in the driver’s seat, his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel tapping to the beat of the music. Lola sat in the back on the same side, her feet tucked up onto the seat as she looked out the window. The two were driving to meet the girl’s parents at a lake house they’d rented for Thanksgiving break. While it would be too cold to swim, they were planning several hikes and sightseeing outings.

“You bored yet, Sequins?” her uncle asked.

“Nope.”

He sighed dramatically, “ _I_ am. I don’t understand how you can’t be. We’ve been driving for _hours_!”

“We’ve been driving for 187 minutes, Uncle Ed.”

“Hours, see?”

She rolled her eyes, “you’ve got zero patience.”

“You stole all of mine when you were born,” he countered teasingly, “now I’ve got none left.”

“That’s not how genes work, Uncle Ed.”

“’Course not, I’m still wearing mine,” the older man looked up into the mirror to flash the girl a smile. In response, she gave a long-suffering sigh.

“You wanna play a car game?”

“What kind?” she asked, immediately perking up.

“A word game, I know you love those.”

“Okay,” Lola agreed enthusiastically- her uncle came up with the _best_ forms of entertainment (not that she’d been bored, but still)- “what is it?”

“It’s called _what’s the most complicated word you know?”_

“That’s a terribly long title,” she commented.

“Hence the name of the game. Now, the point is obviously already stated, but you’ve also got to know how to _use_ the word, since just knowing it exists isn’t enough. Also, when you’re done with your turn, you have to ask ‘what’s the most complicated word you know?’”

“Okay. Since it’s your idea, d’you want to go first?”

He flashed her another smile in the mirror, “alright, let’s see. Since you wanna be a writer, you’ve got an unfair advantage. It’ll also help when we play Scrabble with your mom and dad.”

“You haven’t said a word yet,” the girl helpfully pointed out.

“I’m still thinking and I’m trying to distract my opponent, since you probably know more words than I do,” he said teasingly, “fine, here’s one- forelsket.”

“Is that even English?”

“No one said you were restricted to one language. I could do the longest German word I know if I wanted to. It’s a noun, by the way. It means the euphoria one feels when first falling in love.”

 _Oh._ She kind of liked that word now.

“What’s the most complicated word you know?” he asked.

The girl frowned thoughtfully, also wanting to not make her uncle feel bad in knowing longer words than he did, “hope.”

“That’s only a four-letter word, Sequins. You can do better than that. Besides, it’s hardly complicated.”

She huffed slightly, “fine, how about supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?”

Her uncle burst out laughing at that, the sound dying away into chuckles, “you got me there, Sequins. Made-up words can work too. How many letters does that one have?” he asked, knowing his niece.

She grinned, “fifteen.”

“Only fifteen?” he asked in mock-disappointment, “I know longer ones than that.”

“You never said they had to be long, just complicated.”

“Alright, alright- ask me, now.”

“What’s the most complicated word you know?”

“Antidisestablishmentarianism. It’s one of the longest words in the English language.”

“How many letters does it have?” Lola asked curiously.

“Heck if I know. Don’t even try to make me spell it.”

She giggled slightly, pulling her new notebook towards her. On the first page in the wide, white space before the first line, she carefully spelled out the word, then counted the letters, “it’s got twenty-eight, if I spelled it right.”

“Told you I knew ones with more than fifteen. Hey- I let you off easy with that Mary Poppins word. You didn’t even have to define it.”

“Oh, I know what it means. It’s an adjective meaning extraordinarily good or wonderful,” she said with a grin, “what about antidisestablishmentarianism?”

“It’s a noun. I read it in the paper once- something to do with the church and state. Remind me to look up the full definition when we get to the lake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another update with some snapshots of both the apocalypse and the past! I wanted to get more into what Lola's life was like before the end of the world, so you'll be seeing more of these types of memories. 
> 
> As for later on in the story, I absolutely can't wait to get into S1 & 2\. I have some really good ideas for some of the scenes (I think) and can't wait to get to writing them!! We still have plenty of apocalypse time left, though I will start skipping years in a few chapters. 
> 
> On another note... I'm starting a new job as a hostess tomorrow that I'm absolutely terrified for. I hate talking to people, resolving conflict and answering the phone, all of which the job requires... so it sucks to be me, I guess.


	14. The First Obstacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You do whatever it takes to survive… or you die. So, we adapted. Whatever the world threw at us, we found a way to overcome it.”

As October rolled into November and the whistling winds brought a greater chill than before, Five decided it was time to test the theory of two-person spacial jumping in preparation for the time traveling they would soon be doing. Lola sat by the fire that evening, warming her hands with the orange glow after the coolness of their day’s walk. The boy sat next to her though the space he left between them could have been described as _excessive._

“I’m thinking we’ll try spacial jumping tomorrow,” he announced.

The brunette glanced over at him, “are you sure? We haven’t eaten in a few days so you won’t have much fuel.”

“We’ve been stocking up for this reason,” he reminded her, “might as well try it before it’s too late. I’m not one to put things off.”

“Well I am,” she admitted, “at least when it comes to school projects and such. I suppose that’s why I don’t want to practice- I feel like I do better when I wing it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not an option this time,” the boy said firmly, “you don’t want to be lost in the unknown space of time travel so this is our best bet.”

“What’ll happen if I _am_?” she asked.

The girl received a shrug in response, “I’ve never thought about it since it doesn’t affect me. Every time I blink it only lasts for exactly that- a blink in time. It’s never long enough for me to think about what would happen if I got stuck. Time travel’s the same way, really, so I don’t know what would happen if you got lost.”

“I might end up in another time,” she suggested, “and I could be the one to escape the apocalypse.”

“If that was the case it probably would’ve already happened to me.”

“Not necessarily. You’ve only tried to go backwards,” she pointed out, “and like you said, getting lost isn’t going to happen to you, just potentially to any passengers. So, it might be entirely plausible that I could end up in the 1960s or something if you get the math wrong.”

“I’m not _going_ to get the math wrong,” the boy said grumpily.

“Isn’t that what you said the first time?”

“Would you just _let that go_?” he snapped back.

“Nope, since it’s the only thing I can currently hold over your head,” Lola said brightly, “if you mess up again though I’ll be sure to give you a hard time about that as well.”

Five gave a long-suffering, drawn-out sigh that usually came with her obstinance to let his mistake go. Lola rolled her eyes in amusement, used to his terrible attitude and lack of humor by now. She even knew that he didn’t _really_ mean it and that he was also probably more amused than anything else but that he would never admit to something like that.

Instead, he ignored the statement and said, “get some rest, we have a lot of practicing to do tomorrow.”

\--

The next day dawned grey and chilly as every one had before it. The sky’s cloudy cover had not changed in the entire six months they’d been stuck in the apocalypse and there had been no true weather except for blowing wind and raining ash, both of which persisted. Neither teen took notice of their now-familiar surroundings as they stood next to each other.

“The best way to start this is to do a small jump I think,” the boy decided, “it won’t take much energy and the probability of you getting lost will be less,” he made to reach out and grasp her arm to secure her passage.

Lola pulled away before he could touch her. It wasn’t that she was afraid of _him_ , it was that she had no idea what to expect from moving so quickly through a given space. Like a normal person, she’d only ever walked anywhere. Her only experience with teleportation of any sort was that which she read in books and none of the variations had been described as a _pleasant_ experience, with most passengers winding up feeling sick or some other nasty symptom. The one thing she _definitely_ didn’t want to do was throw up in front of him.

“Wait,” she said hesitantly instead, “maybe- maybe we should, uh,” she looked away from his gaze, piercing even from behind his goggles. _Why was this so hard_? “maybe you should hold on to somewhere else? I don’t want to, uh, get lost if you’re grip isn’t good.”

 _He would know what she meant, right? That she would rather hold is hand while they jumped than him just holding some part of her arm?_ It wouldn’t assuage her true anxiety but it would- probably- at least help.

“I’m not going to let go,” Five answered, impatience clearly in his voice, “stop stalling, idiot. We’re doing this whether you want to or not. Unless, of course, you’d rather spend the whole winter by yourself.”

The girl flushed slightly, “no, no I don’t. I just-“ she paused again, feeling embarrassment creep in, “uh-“ _might as well get it out,_ “can I hold your hand instead?” she blurted out, looking towards her feet as she waited for his response. (She could almost picture his smug look even if she’d never actually seen his whole face.)

“Are you _flirting_ with me?” came his amused- and predictably smug- question.

Her face reddened and the brunette was _very_ glad it was covered, “what? No!” she exclaimed, “I just don’t want to get lost and I think that would be the best way to prevent it,” _good save_. _Wait- she didn’t have to come up with a ‘save’- that was the truth. He was just the one who misinterpreted it to get under her skin, like he usually did. She definitely didn’t want to hold his hand. Yeah, definitely not._

“Right,” he at least seemed mostly convinced, “because that would be an entirely stupid thing to do, not that I would be surprised since it came from you,” he sighed rather dramatically, “but, if it would make you stop _stalling_ , I suppose we can do it your way.”

The boy held out his gloved hand, palm up. Tentatively, she placed her own gloved hand on top of his and was pretty sure her face was more red than it had ever been in her entire life. Even before the apocalypse, Lola hadn’t had much experience with boys since usually none would look her way twice- or even once. The only hand she’d held had been her uncle’s or father’s and she didn’t think either counted. This probably didn’t count _either_ since they were wearing gloves but it was probably the closest she’d ever get.

For Five, this was the first time _anyone_ had held his hand. Even on missions, his siblings had only grabbed his arm or wrist to get him out of danger- not that they usually needed to because of his spacial jumps. The feeling of fingers interlocking with his was strange, admittedly, but not entirely unpleasant. Briefly, he wondered what the feeling of their joined hands (without their gloves) would feel like, especially with their lack of skin-on-skin contact for the entire time they’d been in the apocalypse- and even before that, for him at least.

After so many months of solitude- even with the boy right next to her, Five always made sure to keep his distance- being able to _touch_ someone even through clothes was an almost otherworldly experience. He must have felt similarly since he didn’t jump as soon as their hands were clasped together. In fact, both teens were staring wide-eyed at their joined hands, neither realizing that the other was doing so.

They most likely would have stood there like that much longer had Five not jerked out of his stupor to remember their mission. He cleared his throat, “right, then. You probably won’t feel great until you get used to jumping- you should’ve seen me the first few times. Lucky for you, though, I’m much more understanding than my father and won’t make you continue until you’re ready. Just know that we’re going to be doing this for as long as I can keep it up once you recover, got it?”

Lola’s mouth was dry which had nothing to do with their lack of water (or their joined hands) and all she could do was nod and hope that was acceptable. She watched the boy ready himself, his free hand clenching into a fist and his fingers tightening around hers. Behind his goggles, his eyes closed and she was sure he was mentally preparing himself for if this _didn’t_ work.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting- maybe the feeling of being shoved down a tube, some sort of motion sickness feeling or the up-and-down stomach turning of rollercoasters, but it was none of these.

One moment, she was standing with the remains of their campfire on one side and Five on her other, the next she was several feet away, her hand still clutched in the boy’s. He’d been right- she hadn’t even blinked and yet they were feet away from where they’d started. And- _oh, god, she was going to be sick_. Lola immediately released the boy’s hand and wrapped her arms around her stomach, feeling the sudden urge to vomit.

The girl dropped to her knees and placed her hands on the ground, praying that she wouldn’t embarrass herself _too_ much, even if Five had reassured her that this reaction was normal. Next to her, the boy’s eyes had opened and he spun around, pleased with his own success that he really _hadn’t_ thought was going to work, “we did it!” he exclaimed, almost amazed, “I mean, I knew _I_ could, but I didn’t think-“

His words trailed off when he realized the girl wasn’t sharing his enthusiasm. One glance downwards at the sound of slightly choked coughs made him drop to his knees. The brunette had already pulled down her mask in order to avoid _that_ disgustingness and was now cough-hacking up what would’ve been very messy had there been enough food in her stomach.

In a surprising gesture of concern, the boy wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “hey, hey- it’s okay,” he started in an unusually reassuring, surprisingly worried tone, “just breathe, okay? It’ll pass, it’s not going to last long.”

The girl took several large breaths in an effort to follow his suggestion and felt the nausea subside slightly. She slumped against him with relief, “god, that’s horrible,” she muttered, closing her eyes to fight off the last of the feeling.

“I know,” Five said, his tone strangely sympathetic, “it was a bit of a nasty shock for me when I found out. I was only three when it first happened, too. I don’t really remember the details but something that surprising is hard to forget. You’re gonna be okay, though. Clearly, since I can do it just fine now. It just takes some time to get used to, which is why we’re practicing.”

“Can we be done for today?” Lola asked in a slightly whiney voice, “I don’t think I can take another thing like that.”

“We have to do at least one more,” the boy chided, “we don’t have a lot of time to practice if we want to be prepared for this winter.”

With a groan, the girl pushed herself away from the boy and stood shakily, Five joining her a moment later as she regained her balance, “well, we might as well get it over with.”

“Are you sure? We can take more time if you need-“

“I’m fine,” Lola cut him off, slightly perturbed by the concern he was showing, “let’s go.”

\--

Over the past few days, the brunette girl had been mulling over Five’s father’s riddle of acorns and ice. The practice with spacial jumping had encouraged her to think about it even more, the riddle of time itself even more intriguing now that she knew someone so closely connected to the timeline. She’d discarded several dozens of theories already of what the answer could be- anything from literal to metaphorical- and had tried to look at the question from all sides, as she usually did.

Lola even recalled the conversations she’d had with her uncle in his workshop that had revolved around time and its cyclical patterns, most of which were obviously seen through the reproduction of plants as they never _really_ died but were just ‘reborn’ into a different generation.

 _‘A spacial jump is trivial compared to the unknowns of time travel. One is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of the freezing water and reappearing as an acorn_.’

The girl remembered what spacial jumping had felt like- nauseating at first, but as Five had said, she’d gotten used to it. On several of the tries, she’d done her best to keep her eyes open in hopes of seeing what the world looked like as they blinked through it. From what she could gather, it was like throwing a stone in the water- as it hit the surface, the ripples would condense around the epicenter before spiraling out. As it sank, the world would right itself in a different place. Of course, _they_ couldn’t sink, but they did reappear in a different space than where they began and the jumps had felt like she’d been submerged under water, too.

Lola supposed that Reginald had meant ‘sliding along the ice’ in two ways: one, that it was very easy to do (Five made the spacial jumps look easy with practice) and two, sliding allowed you to get from point A to point B faster than average walking, which was also the point of Five’s powers and subpoint two-a, she guessed that with both sliding and jumping, a person would be able to see their starting point and finishing point, unlike with time travel.

‘Akin to descending blindly into the depths of freezing water and reappearing as an acorn.’ That part had given her the most trouble. She’d heard stories of people who’d gone underwater and gotten trapped under the ice, but none of them had reappeared as an acorn- just with some form of hypothermia, so she supposed he hadn’t meant that line literally. Metaphorically, she supposed he meant that time travel changed a person drastically and to move around in the timeline, one had to have a flexible way of thinking and not so rigid as to be stuck in the future. (Maybe Five was wrong and math _wasn’t_ the way to get back to his time period.)

Lola’s mind kept returning to the ‘acorn’ part of the riddle though, as if it something was telling her that solving that would allow her to understand what Reginald was trying to say. _An acorn does not become an oak overnight_ was one of her uncle’s favorite sayings when he was working on his clocks. He always seemed to become a different person in that shop and had gently chastised Lola’s impatience with that familiar line.

The girl frowned thoughtfully, staring up into the dark, inky-black expanse of sky. Five _was_ too arrogant for his own good, most of the time. Maybe his own impatience had something to do with his time travel not working. Maybe he had bitten off more than he could chew and had overestimated his abilities as he was usually wont to do? He’d tried to become an oak without becoming a sapling or even a sprout first, thus getting stuck in the future without a way back. Perhaps the trick was to start small in an effort to _understand_ the limits and extent of his own power before jumping seasons or decades into the future.

If he’d only gone seconds and then tried to go back, perhaps Five would have been able to figure out how to get home from an even greater gap in time, thus acorn-ing into a proper time traveler.

“Five?”

“Hmm?”

“You know that acorn riddle that your dad told you before you left?”

“What about it?”

“I think I figured it out,” Lola announced.

“Give it a try, then.”

“Well, what if you overestimated your ability to time travel? I mean, it’s a pretty powerful thing, maybe it’s got even more limits than your spacial jumping does and therefore you can only do seconds accurately, not decades,” she explained.

A few feet away from her, the boy scoffed, “what would seconds do for me? I need more than that.”

“Not necessarily,” the girl said lightly, “my uncle used to say that an acorn does not become an oak overnight, meaning that I needed to have patience. Even the day-to-day changes as a seed grows into a sapling has an infinite amount of difference, same as what travelling only seconds can do. Perhaps if you’d tried to start small and then increase your ability, you wouldn’t be stuck here.”

“Yeah? And what can I do with _seconds_?” he asked.

“Quite a lot, actually,” the brunette answered, “think about the Butterfly Effect- one slight change can set a whole different course in motion. I mean, if in one second, my father decided to _not_ tell my mother he loved her, I’d be a whole different person. If in one second I’d decided to go upstairs on April first, I probably wouldn’t be here right now. If in one second you’d moved on from my house and made a decision to ignore my tapping, I’d still be trapped in the basement. You could probably even rewind time by less than a minute and save the course of a person’s life. Time is a very potent thing, Five, you don’t need much to affect an outcome.”

“Even if you’re right, it has nothing to do with helping me to get back,” the boy said finally, “I can’t go back seconds and suddenly return to 2004. The most I could do is have this conversation again.”

“You _could_ have this conversation again, change your response and see the different outcomes,” Lola suggested, “besides, maybe if you started practicing seconds _now_ , in a few years you’d be able to return properly,” the girl tried to ignore the heavy, stone-like feeling that suddenly settled in her stomach as she was reminded that Five _wasn’t_ trying to stay in the apocalypse with her.

“No thanks, I think I’ll stick to the math,” the boy said scornfully, “I’m sure I’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“If you say so,” she answered easily, both of them falling back into silence in an effort to get some sleep.

\--

The next day, the two of them prepared to do their time jump past winter. After much discussion, they’d come to an agreement that their belongings should be left behind and they could reclaim them in the new spring. Because of this, Five and Lola worked together to build a mini fortress out of liftable rubble to entomb their wagon and protect it from any snows or storms that might happen between the present and the future. Standing back, they studied the rubble mound.

“D’you think it’ll work?”

“If it doesn’t, we’ll have to start from scratch.”

“We barely have that much anyway,” the girl pointed out. The only things she was truly worried about were her books. Five was taking the eyeball with them in his pocket but they’d both decided everything else was staying behind- even the white violin.

“Well, now’s a good a time as any,” the boy said bracingly, “might as well see if this works out.”

The brunette tried to swallow her apprehension, “are you gonna be okay?”

“You’re concerned?” Five asked, almost teasingly.

“No, but I don’t have much I can do to help if this goes sideways,” she tried for an unaffected tone.

“It won’t,” the boy answered confidently, “the future is far less predictable than the past and much easier to manipulate,” he held out his hand, ready for her to take it.

Lola grabbed the boy’s hand, feeling the now-familiar heat creep up her face as they secured their grip on the other.

“It’ll probably feel as bad as your first spacial jump,” the boy warned, “although _I_ did feel fine minus the apocalypse shock.”

“Right, let’s go then.”

Five closed his eyes and, like the spacial jumps, Lola figured he was planning their route through time or however is power truly worked- she only knew the base of it, after all. Then, he took a step forward and she followed suit until they were lightly jogging. A rift opened before them, brilliant blue and mirror-like as it appeared out of nowhere.

Then they were there, going through it. The brunette felt a tug somewhere behind her navel, the feeling of the world being turned a full three-sixty, and then warmth that had previously been absent hit her face, causing her eyes to open. She hadn’t even realized she’d closed them.

The girl took in their surroundings, her blue eyes widening as she realized _it worked_ , “we did it!” she exclaimed, as awed as Five had been with his first successful spacial jump, “I can’t believe it worked! I mean, of course I _knew_ it would, but-“ unable to hold herself back and not really thinking about her actions, the girl threw her arms around the boy next to her.

“You’re amazing,” she said happily, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was only when he stiffened in surprise at the action did Lola realize what she’d done and froze, “how the heck did I get here?” she asked, startled.

The brunette abruptly pulled away, “sorry. Let’s not talk about that. Uh, looks like our stuff made it,” she changed the subject awkwardly and gestured to the pile of rubble.

The boy, seemingly fully recovered both from their brief travel and the unexpected contact, nodded, “it seems so. We’ll have to take it apart to be sure.”

Together, they uncovered the mound that they had seemingly just made minutes ago. Lola let out a relieved breath when she saw that her books and the white violin were in nearly the same condition as they’d left them.

As Five inspected the rest of the items, the girl’s attention turned towards their surroundings, taking in the changes that had happened over the course of the four months they’d skipped. The fires had been long out by now, the last of them smothered by whatever snowfall had happened. None of the piles of rubble had seemed to change much, though Lola could’ve sworn that the stench had lessened (that was probably just wishful thinking, though.)

Then, she realized something _was_ different and her gaze was drawn upwards, “Five,” she said breathlessly.

The boy looked at her, confused, and the girl pointed upwards. While there was still no sun (they weren’t that lucky) and heavy gray clouds covered the sky, nothing was falling from above- no rain, no snow and… _no ash._

“The winter storms must’ve cleared up the atmosphere a bit,” Five remarked, “we’ll still have to be careful since it could return at any time.”

“I thought the smell was better,” the girl admitted, pleased with their bit of good fortune, “but I thought it was just me. Maybe we’ll get actual sun soon- or even rain,” she added hopefully.

“Unlikely,” the boy answered briskly, not wanting to get his hopes up, “there’s still a lot of recovery for the world to do and we’ve only moved forward four months. It makes sense that the ash would only fall for a year but anything else will probably take two or more, except snow. Come on, help me check the stuff.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In some good news: it's almost October (my favorite month), I haven't yet been fired from my new job and actually feel pretty confident about it, and I have the next two weeks worth of chapters already written! 
> 
> In a bit of not-so-good news: for those of you who are following my Marvel series or might come here to check the status, I'm taking a longer break than I anticipated since I've got both a lot of other fics out and real-life stuff going on, but you don't need to be too disappointed- I am still fully intending on continuing the series (I even have most of the next part written), I just don't want to start anything new right now. I'm so sorry for the delay, but rest assured that it's not finished yet! 
> 
> I think that's it, so thank you for reading and feel free to let me know what you thought of this chapter! I'll see you next week!


	15. In Memoriam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, nobody new dies.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Five observed as they walked.

Lola shrugged, not caring to answer. The girl’s silence made him frown in confusion, his companion’s normally chatty personality taking a one-eighty didn’t sit as well with him as he would’ve liked- she hadn’t even vocalized an answer to his most recent statement, much less any of the ones before that.

She sighed, “I’m just… thinking.”

“About what?” it was unlike him to be so nosy but again, he was unused to the persistent silence.

She shrugged, “the past, my family. I realized I don’t actually know that much about them. Sure, I lived with my uncle, mom and dad my entire life and we had a ton of memories together but I never _knew_ about them- where they came from, my heritage, what they were like as kids- I was always focused on the present and interacting with them as my parents and my uncle that I never really _hung out_ with them as I would a friend.”

“So? I never hung out with my siblings like that.”

“We were always a close family,” the girl told him, “it was just the three of us. Mom didn’t have any siblings and both of their parents died before I was born so I never met my grandparents. I supposed since you have a larger family and a different childhood than me it’s not something you’re as concerned about. It just seems like I should know the three most constant people in my life better than I do.”

“I’m sure they understand why you never asked,” the boy said with a surprising amount of thoughtfulness, “it’s a parent’s job to raise their child, not to be their friend. They probably wouldn’t have expected you to ask them anything like that.”

“Probably,” Lola agreed quietly, “but that still doesn’t change the fact that I _wish_ I could know. I’ll never know now if I’m fifteen percent Italian or twelve percent English. I’ll never know how many friends my dad had growing up or who my mom’s childhood crush was. My uncle won’t be able to tell me why he and my dad were so close or why they decided to start a department store. I just know the basics and retold stories, like how my parents met or what happened when I was born. I don’t know anything before that.”

Five shrugged, “neither do I and I’m not too worried about it. I’m adopted, so maybe that’s a part of it but I was never too concerned about my birth mother or finding out where I was from.”

“That’s right,” the brunette said with sudden realization, “you don’t have a real dad, do you? All of the women that gave birth on October first weren’t pregnant when the day first began. That is _so_ weird,” to his (unexpected) relief, her tone had lightened.

“I suppose it is a bit unorthodox,” he admitted, “I’ve never been able to do a DNA test to see how that messed with my genetics but I expect that would be quite interesting. I think that’s the only interest I’d ever have in my past, though.”

“You _are_ more concerned about the future, aren’t you?” she asked with an unseen teasing smile.

The boy rolled his eyes in exasperation but let the question slide, “there’s no point in wishing for what can’t be,” he told her instead, “it will only make you regret what you’ve lost and cause you to lose focus on the future. Anything that’s happened up until this point has made you, you, and I don’t see a reason to worry about it.”

“But I want to _know_ what makes me, me. I want to know the percentages of where I’m from and what events occurred to bring me into being. I just feel it’s more important to know your past because even the _slightest_ sentence change could’ve made me not exist, or even exist _differently_.”

“The Butterfly effect,” Five pointed out.

“Exactly, which is why the past is so important. My dad was a bit of a history buff so maybe that’s why I have such a fascination with it and my uncle was always interested in time so that could play a part too,” she sighed, “I just should’ve known to ask about those things. I mean, I was writing a damn autobiography! I should’ve asked about pre-me and included that too!”

“D’you really think you might exist differently in a parallel universe?”

“Who knows? My uncle was a big fan of the Multiverse Theory and we talked about hundreds of potential possibilities when he worked on clocks. He even came up with the idea that he and dad would still run Gimbel’s Brothers but instead of me being dad’s daughter, I’d be a mannequin in their store,” she laughed as she remembered that particular theory.

“Your uncle worked on clocks?” Five’s voice was suddenly intrigued.

“Oh yeah,” the girl said with a nod, “he liked to tinker on them when he had free time. He had a whole shed and everything. He worked on anything between antique clocks and digital ones, both to fix them and understand how they worked,” she gave a little sigh, “he always seemed like a giant kid most of the time but when he was in his shed, he sort of turned into this whole other person. I think he even minored in general relativity when he was in college _and_ he understood it.”

“Could he have figured out my time travel issue, do you think?” the boy asked much to her surprise, “if he was so well-versed in it?”

“I dunno. Like I said, I don’t know much about him, yet I know everything. I know what he minored in, yet I don’t know _why._ I know what his favorite foods are but I don’t know his middle name- really, I don’t. I know what his theories on the Multiverse are but I don’t know what his favorite color is. It’s a paradox of sorts, I suppose.”

“You talk about your uncle a lot,” he commented, “were you two close?” 

“Yeah, I thought so. He was always the one who looked after me when my dad spent overtime at the store and my mom was busy at the library. I never really had friends growing up but he seemed to always act my age that it never really mattered to me.”

“If it helps, I only knew the basic information about my siblings. My sister’s book almost gave me more information on them than what I already knew. Even those who I was closest too- Six and Seven- I didn’t know much about them.”

Lola gave the boy a surprised look, not used to his openness about his relationship with his siblings, “did you ever make an effort to know them? I’m just saying that ‘cause it’s taken you months to even luke-warm up to me. I suspect you were a _bit_ closer to people you’ve lived with for fifteen years but maybe not enough to really know them.”

Five shook his head, “you have to understand that our upbringing wasn’t normal. That seems like it would be obvious, I know, but you can’t really even begin to fathom it unless you were _there_. I know you’ve said before that pre-apocalypse you felt your days were repetitive but mine _actually_ were. We had the same schedule almost every day with only a half-hour on Saturdays for fun. Otherwise, it was mental and physical training all the time except for sleeping and eating,” he sighed, “I never understood what, exactly, we were training for until I landed here, but now I _almost_ wish I could’ve made more of the days- but the only thing I can do is adapt to survive.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Lola admitted quietly, “and I’ve always had a good imagination. I know the press made it seem like that life was exciting and dangerous- which it probably was during those times- but they never mentioned anything about in between missions.”

The boy scoffed, swinging his leg to kick at a rock and send it skittering out of their path, “they wouldn’t. They don’t care that we stayed up for hours on end with stakeouts or that in training One is forced to lift things not even _he_ could possibly hope to lift or that Four was locked in a mausoleum with dad’s attempt to make him control his powers. All they cared about were our powers, our uniforms, our missions- not the life behind the glamor.”

“All that glitters is not gold,” the girl said immediately.

“Exactly,” the boy agreed, then he seemed to realize the line she’d said and turned to the girl in surprise, “you’ve read _The Merchant of Venice_?”

“Oh yeah, it was one of the books I borrowed from your library.”

“My library?” Five’s brows furrowed in confusion.

Lola stopped walking suddenly and froze before forcing herself back into motion, “I meant _the_ library.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes I did.”

He gave a louder-than-necessary sigh, “you _clearly_ said ‘your library,’ so there’s no point in trying to deny it. What did you mean by that?”

She sighed in response, “fine, I’ll tell you but you’ll probably be pissed.”

“Probably,” he agreed.

“Well, before this whole thing happened,” she waved her arms around the scene, “I lived about a block away from the Academy but it was already caput by the time I took interest in it. One night, I saw a weird figure in a window in a house that I thought was empty and so I snooped around and found the library. Books are probably my favorite thing in the world next to words and I’d never seen a house with so many books,” the girl paused before explaining, “my favorite character stole books and I wanted to be like her, but I returned the ones I read instead.”

“Are you _mad_?” the boy demanded, “breaking into my father’s house? Do you _know_ what would’ve happened if he caught you?”

She shrugged, “I was never caught, but I suspect I’d be dead. He doesn’t seem like your average Frau Hermann.”

“Your average what?” there was clear frustration in the boy’s tone.

“Never mind. Why couldn’t I have been stuck with someone from 2019? At least _then_ they’d appreciate all of my references,” the girl grumbled, trying to avoid Five’s expected anger.

“Well, maybe I would understand them if you weren’t an _idiot_. You returned _nightly_ to steal books from my father? That only increased your probability of getting caught!”

“There’s no need to raise your voice,” she said, annoyed, “besides, what’s done is done and I’m here now, unfortunately. I don’t see why you care.”

“I don’t,” Five said, “your moping was getting annoying.”

“I’m not _moping_ ,” Lola answered sharply, “excuse _me_ for having emotions like a normal human and being able to admit that I _miss_ my family.”

“I have emotions too!”

“Yeah, like what?” she scoffed, “hatred, anger, disgust and big-headedness?”

“Well, it’s better than sadness and complaining.”

“Complaining isn’t an emotion, idiot.”

“My point being is two things: one, you shouldn’t have been stealing from my father- _borrowing!-_ doesn’t matter,” he said dismissively when she tried to correct him, “and two, as I’ve said before, wishing for things that will never be is pointless. You’ve had months to adapt so I don’t know why you’re regressing now.”

“Grief is different for everyone, you insensitive prick. It can come and go or happen all at once. For me, it’s the first one. I think for you it’s the third- it doesn’t happen at all.”

“I just know where to put my energy. I can grieve when I’m dead.”

They fell into a prickly silence after that, neither one willing to admit the other was right. It was only later- much later- when they were settling down for the evening that one of them spoke again.

\--

“My mom’s favorite song was _Thunder Road_ by Bruce Springsteen,” Lola said quietly into the darkness, “and my dad’s was _I Got You Babe_ by Sonny and Cher. I suppose that’s enough to tell me the things I don’t know and will never have a chance to ask, but it doesn’t really make up for what I’ve missed.”

She could hear the boy sigh softly, “I suppose I’m acting like an ‘insensitive prick’ as you’ve said because there are no words of comfort that I can give you when everything is so uncertain.”

Very quietly- almost hoping that he would miss her words- the girl said, “well, maybe I don’t need words.”

The boy had caught what she said, “then what?”

“Can- can you hold my hand again?” the brunette asked tentatively, fearing he would mock her or say something just as abrasive.

To her surprise, he only startled, “oh- uh, I guess,” there was a rustle of fabric as he moved closer to her.

She saw him stretch out his hand in the flickering light and placed hers on top of it. It was still strange to touch someone like this, especially since their last contact had only been out of necessity- Five made it a point to avoid touching her like the plague (something about ‘contact and connection’ that he always went on about.) She was glad he said nothing about it now as he laced his fingers with hers.

They sat in silence as the girl looked at their intertwined fingers before she suddenly shook them loose. The boy felt a surprising sting of disappointment as he watched her hand retract from his. The brunette began pulling off the fingers of her gloves to reveal her bare hand before she offered it back.

Lola interpreted his confused silence correctly, “uh, I was thinking that maybe regular contact would be more helpful than just through cloth,” she said, explaining her actions.

“Oh,” came his response, “uh, d’you want me to-“

“If- if you don’t mind,” she said hesitantly.

The boy began pulling his own glove off and discarded it on the ground next to him before offering his hand again. The familiar heat crept up her face as she reached out to grab his hand again, the feeling even more foreign than when they wore gloves. Five’s hand was larger than hers by several centimeters, his fingers long and slim as they reached past her own. Both of their hands had remained surprisingly clean but that was only thanks to the gloves that had protected them. Five’s skin was slightly rough- most likely from superhero training- and comfortably warm as she joined their hands again.

To his surprise, the girl’s hand was smaller than his by a good bit although his only other experience with female hands came from his sisters- neither of which he’d ever gotten to examine except from afar (and really, he had had far more important things to think about.) Now, though, he could see the rather startling difference in size that their gloves hid well. Her fingers were slightly wider and shorter than his, with rough nails and the occasional obviously-bitten area. As far as he could remember, Allison had always taken care in her hands and had spent as many hours as their father would allow in her room doing whatever girly thing she did. Vanya had been far less fussy and her hands had probably more closely resembled the one he was currently holding.

For Lola, it was odd to see her fingers without ink-stained tips or smudged lead from the pencils she’d used while writing. The only thing that marred the pale skin was the occasional patch of dirt where her gloves hadn’t quite protected her. She preferred looking at Five’s hand rather than her own, “did you ever play the piano?” she asked suddenly, studying his longer fingers.

“Uh- no,” the boy said, clearing his throat slightly, “father wasn’t much into the arts. He only let Vanya play the violin since she didn’t have a power. Why?”

“Your fingers,” she observed, turning his hand over slightly in hers, “they’re quite long, you’d probably have good reach for the keys. You never did anything with music at all?”

While she certainly wouldn’t call _herself_ a musician, her parents had been avid music listeners and had transferred the same love to her. She couldn’t possibly imagine such a quiet life.

Next to her, Five shook his head, “we were never really afforded the opportunity. Besides Vanya, Ben’s not that bad of a drawer but that’s about the extent of our talents. I’ve certainly never tried anything.”

“Not even singing? That doesn’t really require any extra tool to do.”

“Nope. Luther’s the one who was interested in records,” there was a slight edge to his tone at her persistence, and he decided to turn it back on her with a question that had bounced around for several days, “anyway, what’s with you and that book?”

“What book?”

“The one with the girl on it. You carry it around with you everywhere and it’s got no real value except sentimental, really. You’d do better by putting your energy elsewhere.”

With a roll of her eyes, the brunette allowed him to change the subject and reached over to grab her belonging, “it’s more than just sentiment,” she explained softly, opening past the cover, “it’s the very first book I ever received as a gift and it’s what inspired me from the very beginning.”

She passed him the open book and Five saw handwriting on the page that he hadn’t noticed the first time. It was written in spikey script, similar to an old Germanic hand. _Sequins,_ it started.

“Sequins?”

“Shut up and read,” the girl answered, pink returning to her face at his curious tone.

**_Sequins,_ **

**_Like you, Liesel has an affinity for words. When I read her story, I was immediately reminded of you. I hope you’ll find more similarities than differences as I have. Remember always that you have a brilliant mind and endless potential, both which will serve you well and get you far in life. If you ever need it, I hope you’ll remember Liesel’s story and draw strength from her struggles when you have your own._ **

**_Love always, Word Shaker._ **

**_Uncle Ed._ **

When the boy was done reading, Lola explained quietly, “he was the first one to ever truly believe in me. When you’re a kid and your first word is ‘octopus’ rather than something like ‘mom’ or ‘dad,’ you know something’s going to be different. He always treated me like I was normal- but never normal in a bad way.”

“Alright, so it’s a bit more than sentiment,” Five allowed after she spoke, “but is it really that- is it really worth keeping? I mean, you’d always have the memory of it so it’s not that important to carry around the physical copy.”

“Fine,” she said in acknowledgement, taking the book back, “listen to this, then. Besides just the story, the author truly has a way with words,” she flipped to the exact page she was looking for, “ _'he must have longed for it so much. He must have loved her so incredibly hard. So hard that he would never ask for her lips again and would go to his grave without them_.’ I know you don’t have context but that’s just so _romantic_ ,” the girl breathed dreamily, “if you read the whole book you’d understand. There’s so many passages like that that are just _so_ incredible-“

“Is it a romance novel?” Five interrupted.

“What? Oh, I mean, sort of, I suppose. There’s romance _in_ there, but it’s mostly about a girl’s affinity for words, like mine. She’s the one who inspired me to write my autobiography. I just- I’ve just always wanted someone to love me like Rudy loved Liesel.”

“What, and die before anything happens? That’s dumb,” the boy scoffed, “that’s why feelings will always be a weakness-“

“Of course you wouldn’t understand,” she answered with an eye roll, “you’re far too mathematically inclined to believe in the power of emotion but trust me when I say that it has inspired people to do great things. Even scientists feel love. There’s another quote from the play _The Clean House_ that was turned into a book, ‘ _I loved her to the point of invention_ ,’” she sighed happily, remembering reading the line from the book and being blown away by it.

“I never knew you were such a romantic,” the boy said, eyeing her in surprise, “I’d pegged you for someone with much more sense.”

“I have sense!” the girl exclaimed, “just because I’m a fan of romance doesn’t mean that I lack for something else.”

“Please,” Five said with his own eyeroll, “love makes people do stupid things, meaning it makes them lack sense. I would _never_ do something so foolish.”

“So you wouldn’t try to reverse time for someone you love?”

“Of course not since I don’t love anyone and probably never will. It’s just not in the cards for me.”

“I suppose it isn’t in the cards for me either,” the brunette said with a sadder tone, “I thought it might’ve been, but now with only you left I guess it never will.”


	16. In Mind and Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of moments that are not in sequential order, but in the wandering path that our Main Character’s mind takes.

**_Through the Years (2011-2019)_ **

Every morning, Lola walked to school. Every afternoon, she walked home.

The brunette girl was glad that the location of her school allowed her to do this; it gave her time to prepare for the day and relax once it was finished. In her early years, one of her three family members would walk her to school, her tiny hand clasped in their larger one. Once she was deemed old enough, she walked to school alone.

She knew the distance from her school to home was four thousand five hundred sixty-three feet, which she had counted consciously the first few times before each step had gravitated towards the back of her mind once the path became familiar. The thing was, if asked, Lola could not describe a single building along her route to school bar her own home and final destination. This was because the girl took far more interest in the path her feet were taking than the one her body was.

With her blue eyes glued to the sidewalk, the girl would study each and every crack that was passed (there where two-hundred thirteen), each bump in the pavement (there were twelve), each weed sticking up between the slabs of concrete (this number ranged anywhere from ten to six hundred) and any oddities that might pop up on the day-to-day basis. Sometimes pieces of trash littered the sidewalk (there were usually twenty-four pieces on average and Lola would pick up each and every one), there could be dropped coins or the occasional dollar bill (as of April 1st, 2019, Lola had collected ten dollars and seventy-three cents during her entire nine years) or not-so-pleasant dead animals that appeared in her path (thankfully, this number was only in the single-digit zone of five.)

On the whole, Lola found the sidewalk and adjacent street far more interesting than the people passing by or the mostly unchanging buildings that stood along her route. If people took the time to look at the ground, they would find that it was a surprisingly changing environment which might result in them taking more interest in the beige slabs of concrete.

**_Dolores Gimbel, Resident Genius (2012)_ **

Lola didn’t have any friends.

As sad of a fact as that might sound, it hardly bothered the girl in the slightest. After all, you can’t miss what you’ve never had.

She was a quiet girl on the whole, preferring to watch the world than take an active part in it. She was most vocal at home in the comfort of her family where she knew her slightly odd views and unique perspectives wouldn’t be made fun of. At school, she opened her mouth exactly five times to the current date. This would be the sixth.

In class, Lola was a back-row girl. She wasn’t tough like Jane or an outspoken bad boy that Ryland tried to be and she wasn’t a quiet artist like Julia. Instead, she tried to scrunch herself in the seat and disappear in the hopes that she wouldn’t be called on for an answer. It wasn’t that she didn’t _know_ the answer- as she often _did_ \- but she didn’t want the attention that a correct reply would bring.

The brunette was a diligent student and for the most part, the teacher left her alone and respected her space. After being in this career for twenty-one years, Mrs. Evans was confident in her ability to read any type of student and understand their preferences and personality without being directly told. However, sometimes she had to enforce the classroom policy of _occasional_ participation and had to breach the comfort level of certain students.

Luckily, she also knew most of their strengths in her class and tried her best to ask them questions in their preferred areas. Lola’s was History and English and Mrs. Evans was always impressed with the girl’s wonderful way with words. Fridays were Spell-off days where she would select two students to stand up at the front of the classroom during Language Arts and give them a list of the week’s spelling words. The winner would receive one point of extra credit and teasing was _strongly_ discouraged. This week, she selected Lola Gimbel and Dave Matthews, one of the brightest boys in the class, if not the brightest. 

Lola was _very_ much against her current position at the front of the class with everyone’s eyes staring at her. Her hands wouldn’t stop moving- from clasping together, to fiddling with her hair, to brushing at her bangs, to itching her nose, they couldn’t stay still. Dave, on the other hand, was nearly a statue, his back ramrod straight and perfectly-pressed clothes in neat order.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” Mrs. Evans asked in a bright voice, “you’ll go first, Dave. This week’s list is a bit harder than usual so it’s alright if neither of you get every word. And remember,” her voice turned stern as she faced the rest of the children, “just because someone doesn’t know how to spell something _doesn’t_ mean they aren’t intelligent. Right, the first word is _blithe_ ,” she said.

“B-L-I-T-H-E,” Dave spelled easily.

“Very good. Lola, your word is _coffee_.”

Her voice was much quieter than the boy’s but no less confident, “C-O-F-F-E-E.”

“Correct. _Aquarium._ ”

“A-Q-U-A-R-I-U-M.”

“Yes. _Conscious._ ”

“C-O-N-S-C-I-O-U-S.”

For each word she spelled, Lola counted every letter subtly on her fingers. None of the words had more than ten so she didn’t need to worry about running out of digits. Knowing how many letters helped her keep track of which ones she used and which ones belonged in the word.

At the end of the fifteen-word list, Mrs. Evans offered a bonus word should both contestants remain standing. For each one spelled correctly, another bonus point would be added up to five. (The bonus words were not on the list for the week and were adjusted in difficulty based on the skill of the spellers.) After that, the spelling would end in a matter of chance with a game of rock-paper-scissors.

“Now we enter our bonus round. Dave, your word is _opulence_ ,” the definition was given after the word since neither student was expected to know it, as each word in the bonus round would be.

“O-P-U-L-E-N-C-E.”

“Correct again,” she praised, “Lola, _quaint_.”

“Q-U-A-I-N-T.”

“Yes. _Zeal_.”

“Z-E-A-L.”

“Exactly. _Resplendent_.”

“R-E-S-P-L-E-N-D-E-N-T.”

“Alright, last word. _Orphic_. Mysterious and entrancing, beautiful beyond ordinary understanding.”

For the first time, Dave seemed to hesitate, “ _orphic_ , he repeated, “O-R-F-I-C. Orphic.”

“I’m sorry, Dave, that is not correct. Lola, you now have a chance at the word.”

The girl straightened slightly, “ _orphic._ O-R-P-H-I-C _.”_

Mrs. Evans beamed at the girl, “very good, that is correct. After congratulating each other for completing the round, you may take your seats.”

The brown-haired boy turned to her and stuck out his hand, “congratulations, Gimbel.”

The brunette shook his hand, “you as well, Matthews,” she answered politely, “it was a real challenge going up against the class genius.” ( _She meant this as a compliment. Luckily, the boy understood_.)

He gave her a smile, “it looks like you’re the resident genius now, Dolores Gimbel.”

**_The Clockwork Tinkerer (2008)_ **

Edward Gimbel was a contradictory person. On an average day, he had a fun, childlike personality that allowed him to get along well with his young niece. He could laugh and play just as well as she could, never seeming to run out of energy or enthusiasm.

Then, on other days, he was quiet, thoughtful and withdrawn. He shut himself in the tiny shed that the family had built behind their house and work on the myriad of clocks he had collected over the years- everything from antiques to modern digital.

Lola’s father said that his brother had always been like this, as if his humor could make up for the times when he seemed to be a different person entirely. When they had been children and teens, Edward had never been concerned with dates or girls or anything of the sort, preferring instead to lock himself away and study. He was the curious one of the two- always wanting to learn something new, seeing the world with a different lens than the average person, noticing details and relationships that others often didn’t.

Edmund supposed that this is why his brother and daughter got along so famously- neither had an average thought in their head. Lola, the romantic optimist and Edward, the thoughtful critic were as thick as thieves. He’d been the one who’d taught her how to read, who’d understood the girl’s early genius and accepted it for what it was, he was the one who’d understood her even more than her parents. Edmund and Diana couldn’t be faulted for this, of course- they had an entirely average view of the world that the other two members of their family didn’t share and were thus the same side of two different coins.

The brunette girl was often the only one Edward would tolerate in his workshop, the tiny space being his own, personal area where Edward and Diana weren’t allowed. The little girl was glad of this because it was an almost magical place, with the constant, steady rhythm of ticking clocks and the myriad of faces that displayed numbers in all different types of fonts. Dozens upon dozens of timekeepers were crammed into the tiny space, tall, grandfather clocks (two) stood in corners, old-fashioned alarm clocks (seven) sat strewn on several tables, special antique clocks with their own, individually-made parts that could only be replaced when made by hand sat in a neat row of ten on the back half of her uncle’s desk.

Several pocket watches (eight) hung from the low ceiling to save space on the workbench and Uncle Edward's tools sat scattered in the only bare space remaining where he repaired and tinkered with clocks that people sent to him as gifts or to be returned. His desk sat snugly under one of three windows in the shop, allowing dust light to stream into his work area as he sat in one of two wooden chairs that took up the remaining space. Lola sat in the other, her legs dangling far above the floor as she leaned against the man’s arm to watch him work with the intricate parts of the antique that he currently held in his hands.

It was quite old with worn, dark wood and roman-numeral numbers from I to XII around the white face. The two spindly hands ended in fanciful, lacy points that were currently still and remained at IX for the hour hand and halfway between V and VI for the minute hand. The carvings on the wood depicted leaves and trees framing the glass circle, reminding Lola of something from Narnia. The back was currently open, showing the intricate gears of the time piece as her uncle’s steady hands poked around seemingly haphazardly- but they weren’t, he was looking for something.

Most of the time, Lola could keep quiet and watch him work, as he preferred. Sometimes, Uncle Edward (for in this space, he was never _Uncle Ed_ ) would tell her stories about where the clock came from or who had owned it in the past, or why he was fixing it. Sometimes, he would tell her theories he had about the world or how time worked, or what he thought about certain things. While he favored quiet, the conversations they had in this space were always surprisingly intellectual, even for a four-year-old. Lola liked that he talked to her as an adult and knew that she understood more than the usual kids her age.

“Can you tell me a Multiverse story again, Uncle Edward?” the girl asked tentatively, not sure if this was one of the ‘quiet days’.

The man turned from his work and smiled at the brunette, his blue eyes- _her_ blue eyes- soft and ocean-like as they mirrored his expression, “of course. Which one would you like to hear?”

“The Soul Machine one,” the girl requested hopefully.

“You always want to hear that one,” Uncle Edward said with a laugh.

“That’s ‘cause it’s my favorite,” perhaps she _did_ retain some of her four-year-oldness.

“Very well,” the man said with a slightly-resigned sigh, “as you know, there are an infinite amount of parallel universes, all with different storylines. Some only have one change from the one we currently live in, some are completely alien to us. No matter the size of the differences though, they are all a shade off from ours. The Soul Machine takes place in one of these.”

He paused for a minute, his fingers wedging between delicate gaps in the gears to test their fluidity, “once there was a boy,” he began, “he was very lonely for despite his large family, he felt unloved and ignored. He had no friends and no one quite understood him for he was far smarter than any one of his siblings.”

“How many did he have?” the girl asked traditionally.

“He was the fifth in the family of seven, not including his father. While he cared for these siblings, he had no idea how to show love for it was never shown to him. So, instead of treating them kindly, he mocked them and belittled their intellect in order to protect himself from any hurt he might feel should they reject his offer of kindness. His attitude isn't to be blamed, though. Circumstances in his upbringing lead him to be like this and after a while, he ran away from his family.”

“Why?”

The man sighed, picking up a slim screwdriver to fix one of the stuck gears, “he felt that they were squandering his potential, that he could be far more successful than they were letting him be. So, he left. He ran and ran and ran, never looking back. The boy was right- he _did_ have potential, lots of it. He became invested in the business he created and grew to be a prosperous young man. The loneliness never left him, though. Despite his success and his financial security, he had no companion to share his life with. He found his employees dull and boring and anyone else he met far below par.”

“What did he do about it?”

“Well,” her uncle continued, as he put down the screwdriver and picked up a pick to free the gears, “nothing at first. He thought the feelings would go away. He had always been able to hide what he truly felt so he didn’t think there would be a problem. For the first time in his life, he was wrong. They didn’t go away and he couldn’t hide them. The loneliness began to take a toll on the boy- now a man. He didn’t eat as much and got very little sleep. He pushed everyone away, which only made the feelings worse. Then, one day, a woman from an important organization came to him, promising that he would get world-renowned fame if he agreed to her contract.”

“What did she offer him?” the brunette asked, looking up at the man with wide eyes.

“An escape,” was his answer, “a way to more easily hide the loneliness. Except he should have known to ask questions first before signing the agreement. The woman's intentions weren't good and she wanted him to do unspeakable things. He _did_ become famous- but _in_ famous. She’d known of his vast connections to important business leaders and, in exchange for this fame, he would kill whoever she wanted him to. To the man’s surprise, he _did_ begin to feel better and after every kill, he felt a little less lonely.”

“Was he a bad person, Uncle Edmund?”

“Bad? No, not really. There are no bad or good people in this world, Lola, just people minding their business and going about their lives, just as he was. Had he asked the woman what the contract entailed, he might have thought twice about agreeing to it, but he hadn’t and now this was the path his life was taking him.”

“What about the Soul Machine?”

The older man chuckled lightly, “patience, Word Shaker. An acorn does not grow into an oak overnight. I’m getting there. Now, in his travels for this woman’s business, the man came across many people. Some of them bright, some of them dull, some of them his intended targets and some who just got in the way. One day, the woman sent him on a mission to rid the world of someone who would influence it negatively- an up-and-coming politician who seemed to have a heart of gold but had terrible intentions. This man was on his Sunday afternoon trip to the department store, as was his daily schedule. For his political campaign, he often made it a point to help out struggling business that needed his patronage.”

“Why were his intentions so bad?” the girl asked curiously, “especially if there aren’t really good or bad people?”

“Intentions can be bad without the person having an affiliation with either side,” her uncle corrected her, “he wanted to abuse his power and change the way the world worked, which would have hurt many people in the process. That is why our number five was assigned to kill him. Now, with his reputation secure in the organization, he would have no trouble with this assignment and he was successful. It was only when he was leaving the store did his life change for the better.”

“Why?”

“A woman caught his eye. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, with brilliant blue eyes, silky brown hair and soft, pink lips that smiled happily at him. It was only on second glance did he realize what she truly was- a mannequin.”

“A mannequin?”

“Yes, a plastic woman had caught his eye. It was no surprise, seeing as he found everyone he knew incredibly dull. Despite her lack of life, she _seemed_ real enough to him, so he asked the store owner if he might purchase her. While the assassin felt odd at the thought of buying someone he viewed as human, the store owner agreed despite his puzzlement. He took her home to his apartment and began the process of getting to know her. Many people say he’d driven himself crazy due to his isolation but he never minded much what people thought- the mannequin was his perfect companion for she never interrupted and could match his intellect, for all conversations came from him.”

“Did he name her anything?” the girl asked.

“Yes, for he wanted to give her a human experience. For the mannequin’s birthday, he decided to name her _Dolores_ , after the sadness he felt when he thought of her never being truly human.”

“That’s my name!”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, “and something _changed_ when he gifted her the name Dolores. Names are very powerful, Lola. You must be careful when giving a title to something for you will never know what the consequences will be when you do so. Now, the man naming the mannequin was such a heartfelt, human act of kindness- one that he had never shown before and one that she had never received- _she_ became a human of sorts in return. She could feel things, hear what the man was saying, but she couldn’t respond. She was plastic, after all, and it made her incredibly sad that she could never thank the assassin with the heart of gold for treating her as something- some _one_ special. It became Dolores’ greatest wish to talk to him just once.”

“Did she ever get the chance to?” Lola asked hopefully.

The man shushed her gently, “now, the man and Dolores lived a mostly happy life together despite never truly conversing with each other. Dolores listened to everything he said and remembered it on the nights she felt most lonely. She’d grown to love him, after all, so keeping the memories close while he was away helped greatly. As for the man, the loneliness in his life vanished completely, for he viewed Dolores as a very real person and was completely content with her in every way, her non-human drawbacks never bothering him. Eventually, he grew old and the contract he’d signed with the woman ended, freeing his life from the restraints of killing and his soul recovered slowly from the years of torture he put on it.”

“Did Dolores’ love help him?” the brunette questioned.

“Yes, he talked to her about everything he was feeling and discussing it helped quite a lot. He even tried reaching out to his family at her suggestion but they hadn’t forgiven him for running away all those years ago. They were jealous, you see, because he’d left them in their cruel father’s care and they believed he skipped out on all of the pain their so-called caretaker had put them through.”

“So they didn’t forgive him?”

“Unfortunately they didn’t. Our number five made an effort to be unaffected but Dolores could see how it saddened him that his siblings didn’t understand that he’d been trying to protect them. Everything he’d worked towards- stable finances, even killing people- had been to try and free his family from their father’s grasp. He couldn’t find the words to explain this and so the animosity between him and his siblings grew so that they stopped talking to each other for good.”

“Oh no!”

“Oh no indeed,” Edmund agreed solemnly, “for had they been a proper family, they could have protected their brother.”

“Protected? Why?”

“Well, the woman was also jealous of her assassin. She’d fallen in love with him over the years and had hoped to earn or force his affections for her. She’d even allowed Dolores to remain, thinking that her assassin would soon realize she wasn’t enough and would want a _real_ woman. Because this had never happened and she was very petty, she sent her _own_ assassins after our number five to kill him.”

“But he was old!”

“Yes. Despite him being arguably one of the best assassins the organization ever produced, he _was_ old and though he posed no threat, the other employees were more afraid of the woman than they were of him, so they set their plan of killing an old man into action. When they burst into his apartment with loaded guns to finish the job, he was prepared because he’d known how the woman thought. Even with his age, he was able to take down his assailants quickly and without much bloodshed, saving both his life and Dolores’. Of course, this attempt on him made the man very angry but without the vitality he once had, he was no match for the woman.”

“What did he do, then?”

“He waited. He knew the evil woman well enough that _she_ would come after them herself since her first plan hadn’t worked. And, true to his word, she _did_ come for them. She came with two of her best assassins as well- though not as good as the man himself- and watched the fight unfold. Our number five was gravely injured by one of them, weakening his ability to protect himself and Dolores. He was still able to subdue his attackers, leaving just him and the woman he’d once worked for.”

“Did he live?” Lola asked, worried.

“He survived the first fight, yes. Unfortunately, he was not strong enough to defend himself against the woman and became the easiest target she’d ever had. Now, Dolores had been sitting on the couch this whole time, watching everything happen before her, longing to be of some help to her beloved assassin. All she could do though was hope and pray that he’d make it out alive which frustrated her to no end. Dolores knew that if she _could_ fight, if she could _move_ , she’d be of great help to him. She’d never been scared when she saw him in action and always wanted to be his partner.”

“What about the evil woman?”

“Well, now that our number five was weakened from combat and unable to defend himself, she raised her pistol to his chest. There was nothing he could do to block the shot and believed that this was the end of his life. He’d fought for so long and had been so strong that he felt this was the end he deserved, especially after killing all of those people. The only movement came from his eyes, which slid to where Dolores was sitting on the couch. As the woman’s finger moved to the trigger, the assassin thought one final thing: _I love you_. He’d always told Dolores that, had always felt that for her, but there was something _different_ , more powerful about this time.”

“What was different?”

“Dolores thought it back,” Uncle Edmund answered simply, “she and our number five had always just missed each other on this sort of thing, but in this moment, the two of them thought _I love you_ at the same time. There is powerful magic in love for it can inspire many things. Plays and books, inventions, discoveries, awe-inspiring musical numbers, or, more simply, _life_. And from this life, Dolores suddenly drew her first breath. She was no longer just a vessel, no longer just a thing with feelings, she was-“

“More than a soul machine,” Lola finished, as she always did.

“Yes, she still wasn’t quite human, but she was closer than she had ever been, and the most impressive thing was that she could _move_. Dolores wasted no time in standing from the couch and saving her beloved’s life. Without hesitation, she grabbed the woman’s wrist, changing the direction of the pistol from our number five’s chest to her _own_. The woman had always been trigger-happy and the surprise of this sudden development caused her finger to tighten around the release. A single shot echoed in the apartment.”

“ _No_ ,” the little girl breathed with wide eyes.

“Yes,” the man said with a sigh, “the single bullet fired directly in Dolores’ chest, aimed at her heart. Her single act of love had cost her a lifetime, giving her only seconds of newly-earned life. The woman collapsed next to our number five. The evil woman smirked triumphantly. While her original goal had not been met, this was _better_ than what she’d planned. Even Dolores’ new life didn’t surprise her- all she wanted was to put her assassin through the pain he had put _her_ and this would be just as successful.”

“Can he save Dolores?”

“Understandably, our number five was in shock from the sudden turn of events. He didn’t know _how_ Dolores was now alive, but the sight of bright, red blood confirmed it. It was only then that he registered the massive _amount_ of blood escaping from her did he react, pulling the fallen woman into his arms and cradling her gently. As strong as he’d always been, he could not stop the tears from falling as he sobbed into her wonderfully warm skin, feeling more pain in his chest than he would’ve felt if the woman had just shot him.

_‘I don’t understand,’ he sobbed against her,_ ‘ _I always knew you were alive, but a part of me knew-'_

_‘It was our love,’ Dolores answered quietly, ‘it brought me to life in that second. I love you, my beloved assassin. I always have and wanted to tell you so. Now my life’s wish has been fulfilled.’_

_‘I love you,’ came the man’s tearful answer, ‘I’ll save you, I promise. I’ll make this right.’_

_‘You can’t reverse time, my love, and I wouldn’t change my decision for the world. This was my decision as much as yours.’_

_‘I can’t live without you,’ he pleaded, ‘I’ll find a way to fix this, I know I will. We’ll find a way to be together.’_

_‘I know you will,’ Dolores said with a gentle smile, ‘you’ve always been brilliant, darling. If anyone can find an answer, it will be you.’_

_The man could see that she was getting tired, her newfound light fading from her eyes, ‘please don’t go. I- I’ll-‘_

_‘We’ll meet again in our next life, my love,’ Dolores whispered, ‘perhaps you will be a time traveler and I will be a real girl. What an epic tale that would be.’_

_‘I don’t_ want _-‘ he started fiercely, only to stop when he saw her breathe softly for the last time, her body relaxing in his arms.”_

Lola looked at her uncle with own teary eyes, “is that it?”

“You know it’s not, Word Shaker,” her uncle said fondly, “when Dolores reached the afterlife, she was greeted by the one who’d made her wish come true- someone who granted her extra time.”

“Do they control _all_ time?”

“Yes,” the man said, “they control all time. They are not a gendered being nor do they truly take form but they are generous when one deserves it and cruel when one doesn’t and indifferent for those who fall in between. Dolores fell into the first category and they knew this. The woman had no intention of asking for more time, grateful for the amount that had been given to her however brief, but they were not done with her yet- her last and only act had been so selfless that, along with a council of other beings that controlled the universe, the Timekeeper had decreed that Dolores-the-mannequin (for she had no last name) and our number five would live as many lifetimes as necessary for each to meet the other in whatever form they would take to have the ending they deserved.”

“Is that why I’m named Dolores?” Lola asked, “is there a number five out there for me?”

“Perhaps,” her uncle said with a smile, “though most say that this is just a wise tale.”

“It is a very wise tale,” the little girl answered with a grin, “ _I_ believe it’s true,” she sighed happily, “it’s just _so_ romantic, I love it.”

“I know you do, Sequins,” the change in nickname indicated her happy-go-lucky uncle was returning, “alright, I’m almost done. We can head in a few minutes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I Won't Back Down_ is now my most popular work, thank you so much for your interest in it! 
> 
> Note: Next week's chapter is going to be a bit shorter, so I made this one longer than usual to make up for it :) 
> 
> Tbh I'm thinking about rearranging some of my early chapters (the first five-ish) and combining them to make them longer so the chapter count might get adjusted. I'm not actually going to delete any content, though! The differences in the lengths of chapters is making me irritated so I will probably fix that. 
> 
> Edit: okay, all chapters have been fixed! I only combined 2 & 3 into chapter 1 so I feel better about that now. No other chapters will be changed. 
> 
> Also, I'm considering making S1 & S2 their own separate works in this series since this is turning out to be quite long but I haven't decided yet. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	17. A Brief Glimpse Into the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first theft.

If one were to compare members of The Umbrella Academy to characters in _The Book Thief_ , Reginald Hargreeves would be equitable to the mayor of Molching. Pogo Hargreeves, on the other hand- and, perhaps, surprisingly- would fill in the spot of Frau Herman (at least in this instance.)

Routines were something that Pogo Hargreeves had grown fond of as he got older. They were predictable and dependable. He could always figure out what to do next because it was the same thing he’d done the day before and the day before and the day before. Back in what he would call ‘the good old days’ when children filled the large house, his schedule had been both routine and yet filled with enough variation that he had been surprised whenever the next event was to occur.

While the children had never been a very rambunctious bunch as Reginald Hargreeves would never allow that, Pogo missed the presence each individual had that had filled up the otherwise large, empty space. He missed Number One’s confidence and eagerness to please and lead. He missed Number Two’s sullen silences, sparks of aggression towards his siblings and seeing Grace with a constant companion. He even missed Number Three’s self-centeredness and even her manipulation. He missed Number Four’s tornado-like presence that left a path of destruction in his wake (Grace missed cleaning up after him.) He missed Number Five’s intelligence and argumentativeness. He missed Number Six’s quiet support and surprisingly snarky remarks. And finally, he missed Number Seven’s ability to listen and her beautiful violin music.

The children had been gone for years now, off into the world to live their own lives. Pogo understood why they left and why none of them deigned to return to the Academy. Even Luther, who had stayed the longest out of all of them, had eventually been sent on a goose-chase moon mission once he was no longer of use to Reginald. While Pogo considered the master of the house a close friend and someone he was indebted to, there were still things he privately disagreed on with the man which included the raising of his children.

While the adults knew that what they were training for was larger than themselves, the children didn’t understand and held their tough lives against their father. Pogo often advocated for Reginald to be more open and share the necessary details about the future but the man promptly shut him down every time. Even once they left, all he’d said was “they’ll be back” and had left it at that. Eventually, the chimpanzee had learned not to push the matter and chose to help out the frustrated children wherever he could before it was too late. Even with his minimal efforts, he was unsuccessful.

Once Luther had left, Pogo’s life had turned into the routine he had grown to expect. There were no new missions, no training, no learning and no fights to put a stop to. Instead, he spent hours alone in the sitting room reading the myriad of books Reginald kept in the house. Every other hour, he’d go down to the kitchen to replenish his cup of tea. At twelve o’clock, he’d have lunch. After that, he would check in on Reginald, though the man didn’t usually need anything. He sometimes helped Grace with her cleaning and then he would return to the sitting room and pick up where he left off in his book. As he got older, sleep came to him less easily and he would often spend the nights roaming the empty house and remembering the events that had taken place in certain rooms or think of the children- now adults.

It was on one of these late-night explorations that he first saw the book thief. 

\--

Pogo had been doing his usual circuit of the house- from the first floor up to the attic where Number Three used to go when she was upset- when he noticed something out of place. He passed by the library every night and the door was always, always closed. Except- tonight, it was _open_.

He paused outside the crack and listened closely. With his advanced hearing, he was able to pick up sounds that regular humans would most likely miss. There was the shuffling sound of feet. Someone was running their hand along the spines of the books. A floorboard creaked imperceptibly.

Curious, he pushed open the door a little wider and peered inside. At first glance, he saw nothing. He strained his vision a little more and saw one of the curtains twitch without the help of a breeze. The library was an odd place for stealing things but there would be no harm if he left the person there just as long as they didn’t enter the rest of the house. He exited the room and pulled the door shut with a _click!_

The next morning, Pogo returned to the library to return his finished book and paused. While Grace cleaned extraordinarily well, the library wasn’t on her usual list since it was hardly used by anyone except for Pogo. So, it was no surprise that the floor was a _little_ dusty. Dusty enough, in fact, that a singular trail of small footsteps could be seen walking away from the curtain.

 _(Lola hadn't been as careful as she'd thought. You had to forgive her, though- this_ was _her first theft.)_

Intrigued, Pogo continued his investigation and studied the bookshelves carefully. On the first shelf closest to the floor, a thin gap was visible. Bending slightly, he studied the missing book.

Pogo had taken over the duties of library organization back in the early days of the Academy and therefore knew the set up by heart. This particular shelf held books from the sixteen hundreds. The book thief had taken _The Merchant of Venice._ Since only one was missing and nothing else was out of place, Pogo decided to _not_ alert Reginald of their intruder. There was nothing to be concerned about, after all, so there was no need to concern him with this matter. It would take years for all of the books to be gone at this rate and if Pogo were being honest, he wasn’t much of a Shakespeare fan.

\--

The book thief continued to make appearances over the next several years. Every time Pogo entered the library to exchange books, he would check to see which ones were missing. The intruder made their way steadily through the sixteen hundreds before moving to the seventeen hundreds. They didn’t seem to have a preference for any one genre but was open and accepting to all. Even more peculiar was that the book thief wasn’t really a thief, but more of a book _borrower_. Pogo had been immensely surprised (and a little disappointed) to see that _The Merchant of Venice_ had been returned to it’s exact spot only to have the next book vanished.

That wasn’t all that was out of place, either. The book _borrower_ often left some sort of dusty footprints behind that Pogo ran his _own_ feet through to hide the marks. A part of him was relieved that Reginald had turned off his surveillance footage years ago so the borrower wouldn’t get caught but another part wished it was still on so he could see who they were.

\--

Pogo’s wishes to find out who the book borrower was were finally answered. One night, two years later, he had been making his daily rounds. Instead of just missing the borrower or causing them to hide, he caught them- _her_ \- in the act. The girl never noticed him, but in the dim light of the hallway, he was finally able to put a face to the intruder.

The sight of the young girl instantly brought back memories of two other young girls who had been very dear to him. This one, who was rapidly vanishing from view, was, of course, different than the two he knew, but her features were very similar. The girl had dark brown hair and bangs much like Seven had had growing up. She was about what Three’s height had been and was of similar build. Pogo hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of her face but his mind replaced it with Seven’s.

He knew, then, that he would do whatever it took to keep this girl out of Reginald’s grasp. If she was caught, he would most likely punish her harshly, enough to scar her. Pogo promised himself that he would not let another child- especially one seemingly without powers and the weight of the world on her shoulders- be influenced by the man who, despite everything, he still respected. He’d failed Three and Seven in the past but this _new_ Seven, he wouldn’t fail. There had been nothing he could do about the powered children under Reginald’s care but this book borrower would remain ignorant of the man’s tendencies.

While Reginald wasn’t _much_ of a threat especially now that he almost never left his office, it was better that Pogo didn’t let his guard down. He finally even broke down and explained the story to Grace and how, though there _was_ a thief, she posed no threat to them and it was their duty to protect her from Reginald. Grace, understanding where the chimpanzee was coming from, agreed and made it a point to leave more windows unlocked for the girl so she would have easier and faster access to escape. She also entered the library more frequently and cleaned up the lingering dust so no remaining footprints would give away the borrower’s presence.

It was in this way that the two guardians unofficially adopted a sort-of eighth child, though she had no knowledge of her new position. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect another chapter in a few minutes... since this one was short (and couldn't be combined with anything) I decided that I would do a double update instead and both chapters equal one usual chapter length, so it works out. 
> 
> Stay tuned!


	18. What is Love?

Love has always been an abstract concept for me. As someone who cannot actually experience it, this should not come as a surprise. Do I love my job? At times, I suppose I do, but never in the true definition of the word.

There are many types of Love. Platonic, between friends. Romantic, between partners. Familial, between family members. The Greeks knew this as well and in their orderly way they classified these different types of feelings. Eros, philia, ludus, agape, pragma, philautia.

**A DEFINITION**

**_Agape_ = selfless, sacrificial, and unconditional love**

I have mentioned before that no matter what timeline or events that occur, Dolores will always, always, meet Number Five, even if the circumstances are never the quite the same. This is the type of love I will be focusing on.

Agape.

When Dolores sacrificed herself for her beloved assassin, she made a selfless decision based on her unconditional love for him, thus fulfilling the complete definition of the word. It is the same decision _this_ Dolores will make countless times, though not all will end in her demise- just one, when she intercepts the bullets meant for her husband. Then, Number Five will take her place as Liesel and Dolores will become Rudy.

I’m sorry, did I just give away the ending? I know I'm being rude. It’s just that, if you knew my opinions about my work, you’d understand. Mystery is known to bore me. I don’t have much interest in building suspense.

Still, it is in this agape form of love that does not mean the end of Lola. Against all odds, against his nature of disagreeing with his father, Number Five will do what _number five_ failed to: reverse time to bring back the one he loves most.

It is true that neither- or well, Dolores- does not quite yet feel this. Dolores, you see, has not yet forgotten that Number Five is planning on leaving her. She is afraid that she already cares too much about this stubborn, irritating boy and will be crushed in his final departure. She is afraid that she has _already_ fallen for him despite this. She is afraid that it is too late.

What it would be nice for her to know is that Number Five is wrestling with a completely different matter. _He has fallen in love with Dolores_. He certainly hadn’t meant for this to happen but somewhere along the line of snarky comebacks and heartfelt moments, he realized that she was someone he couldn’t live without. In the beginning, he spent his time beating himself up for having such a weakness and made an attempt to ignore it.

That didn’t work.

Then, he begrudgingly accepted his fate. Number Five could even pinpoint the exact moment when he realized his feelings for the girl though he hadn’t admitted it to himself until much later. It had been when she had sacrificed her own notebook in order to get him home. He’d responded, “oh, well thanks, I guess,” but he had to physically stop himself from adding _Dolores_ after ‘guess.’ That was when he knew, for the girl’s prediction had been right.

**DOLORES PREDICTS THE FUTURE**

“What, so if you ever say my name, that means you’re gonna be in love with me or something?”

_(This included saying her name in his head.)_

After that, he spent the following weeks re-writing all of his equations to include _two_ -person time travel. Even if there was already a Dolores in the past, she wouldn’t be what he considered _his_ Dolores. Therefore, the only logical thing to do was recreate every problem to include a passenger.

Number Five had never considered himself to be the type of person to fall hard and fast, but in the ironic fate of his destiny he had, just like all the other times. It was easier in the beginning when the air wasn’t so clean and they had to wear masks so he couldn’t see her face. It got much harder once they revealed to each other what they looked like (not that he’d forgotten.)

**NUMBER FIVE TELLS A LIE**

“I don’t even remember what you look like.”

Now, he was frequently concerned about the girl’s welfare though he made an effort not to be obvious about it. He couldn’t help being concerned at her ill reaction to their first spacial jump, though, or when she was hurt (which had happened, once. He’d mocked her for days about it once he knew she wasn’t in grave danger) or when, finally, she’d gotten that wonderful, once-a-month visitor (that was pure hell.)

This was when he’d decided (though he made it seem like an improvement for him, not for her) to have a permanent place to settle. The old library was still in relatively good condition and he’d found a chalkboard in the rubble and- against all odds- _chalk_. It was there that the two staked their claim and put down roots, both physically and emotionally.

It was poignant, really, that the love they felt became reciprocated in a place where both of their interests lay- Number Five with his numbers and Dolores with her books.

There is still much story to be covered, from the two’s journey out of the apocalypse, their years spent (wasted) in the time-travelling organization, to finally saving the world from- two- apocalypses. But first, we must finish covering how Number Five and Dolores fell in love. We should deal with that now, don’t you think?

It’s settled, then.

We will.

It started with an article from the past: _“Thirty-Six Questions That May Lead to Love.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how many times I added 'baby don't hurt me' in my head after reading the title. Despite that, I think this is my favorite chapter so far! 
> 
> I also finished planning out the rest of this book and it will (as you can see) have thirty chapters in total. I've even already figured out the titles for both S1 and S2 of the actual canon which I'm pretty excited about (they're all going to be based off of eighties hits if anyone wants to take a guess.) 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	19. Thirty-Six Questions to Fall in Love Pt. 1

**_Two Years Later_ **

Lola sat cross-legged on the ground facing the chalkboard that Five worked so diligently to cover. They’d sat in silence for most of the day and the brunette upheld her side of their companionship by speaking first.

“Did you know that there were supposedly thirty-six questions that could make a person fall in love with you?” predictably, the other teen snorted in disbelief.

“It’s true,” the girl continued as if he’d spoken, “my dad was the one who discovered the article. He liked reading news and had gotten a bit sidetracked. I suppose it was around Valentine’s Day or something, but apparently there’s a set of questions that, when answered honestly, will result in someone falling in love with you.”

Even though he didn’t turn away from the board, she pictured him rolling his eyes, “I don’t really believe it either,” she said in agreement, “but since we’ve got nothing better to do, what have we got to lose?”

“Ourselves,” came Five’s prompt reply, “our heads. Love makes people do stupid things and I’m personally not interested in acting like a fool.” _What a liar_.

“But if you don’t believe it will work, you don’t have anything to fear,” the girl reasoned.

“Except the massive waste of time and energy it would take to have that discussion.”

“Fine, you don’t have to answer. I’m bored, anyway and you’re used to me rambling that it shouldn’t bother you, so I’ll just answer them,” she shifted slightly to get more comfortable, “the only problem is that I might not remember all of them. Let’s see, the first one-“ she closed her eyes and tried to recall what she’d heard when her father had read the article so long ago, “I think it was _given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you bring as your dinner guest_?”

“An icebreaker?” the boy asked incredulously.

“Why not? It’s how you get to know someone. Well, that’s answer is obvious,” she said teasingly, “it’s you.”

Five rolled his eyes, “that’s ‘cause I’m the only option and we already have dinner together every night. Lame question, next.”

“Fine,” she huffed, “but you’re not even playing the game, so don’t rush me. The next one was _would you like to be famous? In what way_? I think I’d like to be a famous writer, that way people would read my autobiography. At least it would be interesting now since I’m currently surviving an apocalypse.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, you’re already known by the one person left so you’re technically famous by default, _and_ I’ve read your autobiography.”

Now it was the girl’s turn to roll her eyes, “like the first question, that doesn’t count. Next one. _Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you’re going to say? Why?_ Oh yeah, I did that all the time. I _hated_ talking on the phone and always worried that I would stutter or something. I always avoided it if I could.”

“It’s just the phone,” Five said, turning to look at the girl, confused, “what’s so bad about it?”

Lola shrugged, “the threat of the unknown. I mean, I never knew if the person on the other side was going to start yelling at me for no reason or that I wouldn’t know the answer to a question that was asked? I guess I wouldn’t be afraid of it _now_ since I’ve survived this, but still. Anyway, the fourth question I think was _what would constitute a perfect day for you_? Well, another easy one- not having to eat bugs, being able to take a proper shower, getting a full night’s rest and doing nothing. Oh- and having a change of scenery.”

“What, you don’t like looking at me all the time?” the boy joked, which was followed by him ducking as the girl threw a pebble at him.

“No need to be conceited, idiot. Let’s see- um, _when did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?_ Geeze, if these were test answers I’d be acing them,” the brunette commented, “I mean, I just had _My Girl_ stuck in my head and the last person I sang it to was you. Okay, next- _if you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30 year old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?_ Definitely the body of a thirty year old. What good is a mind if you can’t move around to use it?”

“Are you sure about that?” Five asked, “I mean, people would still respect you when you’re old even if you don’t have the same mentality. Besides, your mind would be sharper than what your physical age showed. I’d rather have the mind of a thirty year old.”

“And be all old and gross?” the girl asked, “no thanks, I’d rather forget things twenty times a day and walk in circles with a body that can keep up with me.”

“So what if the gap was even bigger? What if you were a sixty year old in the body of a teen? You wouldn’t prefer that, would you?”

Lola frowned thoughtfully, “that one depends on the state of my mind, I suppose. If I was still as sharp as I am now, I guess it wouldn’t be too bad. If I forgot a lot, then it probably would look like I was a crazy teenager.”

“Are you kidding?” the boy asked in disbelief, “you’d rather have people think you’re a _kid_ and treat you that way than with the respect you deserve?”

“I suppose,” she said with a shrug, “I’m surprised you’re suddenly so invested.”

“I’m not,” he huffed, “it’s just when you have stupid answers.”

The girl rolled her eyes, “the answers can’t be stupid if they’re opinion based. Anyway, the next question was definitely memorable- _do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?_ Not really, I guess. I suppose I thought I would die sometime in here, but other than that I’ve never thought about it much.”

When she received no comment from the boy, the brunette asked the eighth question, _Name three things you and your partner (the person you are dating) appear to have in common?,_ leaving out the ‘dating’ part.

“Well, that’s easy. We’re both seventeen, we’re both in the apocalypse and, uh-“

“-We’re both trying to save the world,” the boy provided.

“Yeah, I guess I am, in a way. At least I’m good at my job of keeping you entertained.”

“Whatever. You’re also very good at distracting me.”

Lola grinned, “it’s one of my special talents. Anyway, _for what in your life do you feel most grateful?_ is the next one,” she was quiet for a moment as she thought. She supposed she could say her parents despite the fact that they were dead, or that she survived the apocalypse, or that her favorite book and safety item was still with her but none of them seemed quite right. The girl watched the boy in front of her, who was tapping the chalk they’d found against the chalkboard as he mentally checked his math.

The boy who, in the past years of her life, had grown so familiar to her that she knew him almost better than she knew herself. Despite their obvious differences and disagreements, he was her best friend. The only one she’d ever truly had, even including her uncle. If it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t even _be_ here. Coming to a conclusion on that last fact, she said, “you.”

That caused the boy to drop his chalk and turn to her, eyes wide, “me?”

“Yep. I mean, the only reason I’m here is because of you. The only reason I’ve lasted this long is because of you. The only reason I’m not half insane is probably because of you. So, the common denominator is you, and clearly I should have said thank you at least once,” for some reason, it was nearly impossible to meet his eyes.

“Oh,” Five said after a moment of silence. His tone betrayed his surprise and she didn’t even have to look at him to know that he was, well, _touched_ in the few times she’d ever managed to get him to feel that way, “well, you’re welcome, I guess. I suppose I’m most grateful to you, too, since I’d be all of those things as well if you hadn’t stuck around.”

“That’s not true,” she protested, “you can totally survive on your own-“

“Yeah, but not _live_ ,” he said, cutting her off, “surviving is one thing, but living is something else entirely and if you hadn’t stayed and put up with me, I don’t know where I’d be.”

Lola’s face felt suddenly warm and she looked up into the sky to see if the sun had suddenly intensified, but it remained the pale, shiny disk that it always was, “well, uh, you’re welcome too, I guess,” she said awkwardly. The girl cleared her throat before hastily moving on, “ _jf you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?_ Uh, we can skip this one, if you want. I know I have nothing to complain about in the face of-“

“It’s alright,” the boy interrupted her again, bending over to pick up his dropped chalk, “I’m not going to be offended if there’s something you want to change.”

“Okay, well, I guess I wish that my mom would’ve been less demanding. She was a bit of a stickler about rules, homework, cleaning, chores, basically everything that didn’t involve fun. Other than that, I don’t mind how I was raised.”

Five turned to her with a raised eyebrow, “you’re not going easy because you don’t want to complain to me, are you?”

“No!” she said, a little too quickly, “no,” she repeated, “I’m actually pretty happy with my childhood despite my lack of friends- so, yeah. Uh, I’m guessing you don’t want to contribute anything?”

“You’ve got that right,” the boy said, turning back towards the chalkboard.

“ _Take 4 minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible._ Well, I think I’ll skip this one since you’ve read my autobiography and you know the rest. Besides, it’s a bit like the last one in that I’m assuming you don’t want to talk about the Academy?”

“Right.”

“Okay, uh, _if you could wake up tomorrow having gained anyone quality or ability, what would it be?_ ” she grinned suddenly, “I can guess what yours would be- to have reliable time travel!”

The boy rolled his eyes, “you really _aren’t_ going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope! But that’s it, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” he said noncommittally, “I already have everything I need otherwise.”

“Well, I think mine would be to have psychometry.”

“The ability to touch things and see their past?”

“Yeah, that way I could see what causes the apocalypse by touching the eyeball or violin. I think that would make things a _lot_ easier. Anyway, that’s the end of the easy questions, I think. You want me to continue?”

“Would you stop if I asked?”

“Maybe.”

“I guess since you’re not distracting me _too_ much, it’s fine.”

“Great! Well, the first question in the second set was, uh, something about seeing the future. I dunno what it was though, so moving on. _What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?_ I guess surviving the apocalypse? There’s not much else, really, besides my autobiography but that’s not even published yet. Would time-travelling be yours even though it didn’t work properly?”

Five hesitated before answering, “I _was_ pretty proud of it before ending up here,” he admitted, “I always knew I could do it and when I did, it was the most gratifying moment of my life. I just don’t think it should count anymore.”

“Of course it should,” Lola said suddenly, “you can _time travel,_ Five. That’s not something an average person can do. Even if you messed it up, I think it’s pretty damn amazing.”

“You always give me a hard time about it though.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re too full of yourself and your ego would choke you if I complimented you every time I thought you time travelling was cool,” she said bluntly, “but it _is_ and I kinda wish I had my own superpower to even get on the same scale.”

He rolled his eyes, “you don’t need a superpower, idiot. You’re just fine on your own.”

She blinked, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

The boy turned to grin at her, “I can be nice too, sometimes.”

“I never said you couldn’t be. Anyway, time travelling is _definitely_ a major accomplishment, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” she watched as he turned back to the chalkboard quickly and couldn’t help but smile again. _Was he_ embarrassed _by the praise? That definitely couldn’t be right, but it was still funny to think,_ “next question, then. _What do you value most in a friendship?_ ”

Lola paused, considering. What did she value most in her friendship with Five? With her uncle? They were both loyal, although the boy didn’t have much choice and could still leave at the drop of a hat once he figured out the equations. They both accepted her for who she was and she didn’t have to make any amended statements for that. She trusted both of them even though- again- the boy could leave her at any time.

“I guess I would have to say loyalty, acceptance and trust.”

“Not humor or intelligence?”

“No. Why, are those your answers?”

“Intelligence definitely,” the boy said, “maybe trust, too, but not as much- the lack of nosiness is more like what I’d call it. And, uh,” he thought for a moment, “dependability, I guess, since everything around us is changing all the time and we constantly have to adapt, it would be nice to have something that stays the same. Like you, I suppose.”

“Are you calling me _boring_ ,” the girl asked teasingly.

“No, I’m calling you dependable which, in my opinion, is a compliment.”

“Well, thanks I guess,” she said hesitantly. The familiar warmth that came with Five being _nice_ returned and she shifted so that her knees were pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, almost to try and keep the feeling trapped within her, “okay, uh, _what is your most treasured memory?_ ” she hummed thoughtfully, “I guess… as of right now at least- and I know this is terribly cliché, so you don’t have to say anything- but any one of my Christmas memories. They’re some of the happiest times of my life, so I suppose that makes them the most treasured. I am open to having a new treasured memory, though, if anything like that happens here.”

“You think it will?” the boy asked in surprise.

“I’m hoping,” the girl responded simply, “anyway, d’you have a treasured memory you’d like to share? Personal invitation.”

At first, she thought he was going to shake his head but her eyes widened slightly when he nodded. 

“It was my, uh, last night at the Academy before I time travelled,” he started slowly, “we- my siblings, including Vanya- snuck out to this diner nearby which we did about once a month and broke in. Not in a bad way, since I could blink in and open the door, but the shop was definitely closed. Anyway, we all ate doughnuts until Klaus threw up and Diego was a close second,” he gave a small, slightly bitter laugh, “it was one of the only few times we were allowed to be what we were- children. Since it was the last time we were all together, that uh, makes it my favorite thing to remember.”

As the boy spoke, Lola listened intently, her mouth dropping open slightly in wonder as he told the story. It was still very, very rare for him to tell her anything about his past and she treasured anything he shared with her, tucking it away into the back of her mind in file folder labeled _Five_.

So far, the things that she knew about him were: he played poker with his siblings, he snuck out to a doughnut shop, he didn’t hate his father as much as he let on, Ben was one of his favorite siblings and liked to read, Vanya was his other favorite and he sometimes listened to her play the violin, and he had very little patience for Luther and Diego- she found this out by the (exactly) three times he’d complained about them.

Then, she discovered other things about him on her own: he always used his hands and arms to explain aspects of time travel, when he was thinking, he would tap or fiddled with chalk or another writing utensil, when he was happy- which was rarely, but it had happened twice- his eyes would change from their intense, dark green to a color similar to moss in the sunlight, and once when she’d smiled at him for the first time (in daylight, without their masks) he’d actually _tripped._

Lola wasn’t sure what the last one meant but it was her favorite thing to remember. Not a _treasured_ memory, exactly, but a good one to recall. There were so many other little things she’d noticed about his habits that were crammed into the file folder in her head it was impossible to list them all (but the running total was currently one-hundred-seventeen.)

Somehow, over the last two years, he’d changed from someone she could hardly stand to someone she cared about. It was terrifying, really to depend on a person so much when they didn’t really care about you in return. Lola never forgot that Five could leave her behind the _second_ he figured out to get home- and then she’d have to learn to live with the one person she couldn’t live without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! We're getting REALLY close to some of the chapters I've been looking forward to writing since I started this fic and I can't wait to get them out to you... I hope you'll like them! 
> 
> I just have a note for next week, which is that I've only written three and a half pages of the usual six for the next chapter and I have a busy weekend coming up. While I'm going to do my best to get it out on the usual Wednesday update, it may have to be Thursday depending on how much time I have to write. Like I said, I might be able to make it work but if it doesn't come out on the usual day, don't worry- it'll definitely be out SOMETIME next week, perhaps just later than usual. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	20. Thirty-Six Questions to Fall in Love Pt. 2

The last thing Five Hargreeves expected from landing in the apocalypse was to fall in love. It had been non-existent on his list of priorities ever since he _could_ make lists and far from his thoughts even after he’d brought Dolores (she was _always_ Dolores to him) out of the basement. His first and only focus was working out how to get home and not even a _stupid_ (though even he couldn’t convince himself of that for long) girl could distract him. Somehow, though, he’d over estimated his willpower and had fallen for her anyway. While he could have just chalked it up to the increasing presence of teenage emotions and the fact that she was the only companion he had, Five was also not in the habit of lying to himself about such things.

As a mathematician and a scientist, _lies_ did not sit well with him. He needed to work out the problem methodically from start to finish until he got to the answer using proofs and other fact-checking methods as necessary which was how he determined his feelings for the dark-haired girl as more than just _friendly._ Growing up in a household such as the one run by Reginald Hargreeves never gave much importance to things such as emotions, but it wasn’t like Five hadn’t felt _anything_ for his adopted siblings and by the power of deduction and educated guess, he’d figured out his feelings for Dolores.

At first, of course, he _had_ truly been annoyed by her presence. Being a part of a world-famous crime-fighting superhero group had taught him several things and all had led to being wary around meeting new people. It hadn’t helped that she couldn’t _talk_ either, so he could only figure out her motives and other intentions from her gestures and the prewritten start of her autobiography. Eventually, though, once she’d been shocked back into talking at his threat to leave, he’d grown to appreciate the fact that she wasn’t scared or intimidated by him and- if he were to admit this to himself- short tempered due to _his_ own attitude.

That was when Five had begun his observation of the affect Dolores had on him. Whenever they verbally sparred, his pulse picked up and the adrenaline that had only kicked in during training or missions woke and he grew to look _forward_ to their disagreements. Then, though it was rare, there were times when they both had an understanding that more… sympathetic talk was needed and he made an _almost_ visible effort to be patient and understanding of her feelings- something that he’d never done for anyone before. Finally- at least in the early days before Dolores had accepted their new living situation- when darkness fell and the girl would become anxious and worried, to took very nearly all of Five’s self-control to not feed into the weakness of comforting her. As he lay awake at night listening to her fearful tears, he reminded himself that he was doing her a _favor_ and that it was better for her to more quickly adapt if she dealt with this on her own (he ignored the fact that this piece of advice was said in a way that sounded suspiciously like his _father’s_ voice.)

Then, the day that she’d offered one of her own anchors to him in an effort to help him get home, had been when his feelings had changed _again_. With both of them now owning very little, the act of Dolores giving up her precious notebook for his own benefit had struck a chord within him. Of course, she’d done selfless acts before that had surprised him, but those were in her nature and he’d written them off as so. This, though, had been remarkably _different_ in that everything before had had relatively little meaning to her. He wouldn’t have been more surprised if she’d given him the _other_ book she always carried around.

Five’s siblings were, on the whole, a rather selfish lot regardless of their group’s actions to save the world. It was understandable, really, that children who’d grown up owning so little that _truly_ belonged to them would be reluctant to share the things that they actually had. This could be anything from material things to food to even time- all of which they kept squirreled like an animal preparing for hibernation, their constant, subconscious fear that a father-like figure would come to take it all away.

So, it was no surprise that such a seemingly inconsequential act from a girl who had the possibility of every opportunity at her fingertips would have such an affect on a boy who’d grown up with relatively nothing.

\--

The two remaining survivors of the end of the world were currently sitting on the hard-packed dirt road they’d previously been walking on. The wagon Five had been wheeling was sitting patiently next to them, the long, slightly dented handle resting in the dust near the boy’s feet. The brunette girl sitting next to him had her arms wrapped around her waist, her eyes closed as she tried to think about everything _else_ but the burning ache in her back and abdomen. Dolores had been snappy and unusually sad the past week and Five, having lived with her long enough, had recognized the signs and knew what was coming. He’d even purposely charted their daily walk to be shorter than usual to accommodate her situation and when she’d been in too much pain to walk (though the brunette would never admit it) he’d claimed tiredness and promptly sat down in the middle of the road.

Now, Five was trying to think of ways to take the girl’s mind off of what she was currently feeling. Talking often seemed to help and, though it made him rather uncomfortable to be the one doing the sharing, it appeared to draw her attention toward _him_ and away from her.

“D-“ he caught himself, having been about to say _Dolores_ , and quickly changed the first word, “do you remember any more of those questions?”

“What questions?” the girl ground out.

“The ones from that article you told me about, that your dad read,” he reminded her. Having a specific topic to talk about was more preferable than him just rambling, though he tended to veer towards math topics when he did.

“I don’t know what damn questions you’re talking about. Now shut up.”

Five rolled his eyes, knowing she didn’t _really_ mean that, “yes you do,” he continued obstinately, “you were just talking about it last week. Or, well, I _think_ it was last week-“

“It was six days ago, idiot.”

The boy grinned, knowing that Dolores couldn’t _stand_ it when he botched the numbers, “so you _do_ know what I’m talking about.”

She huffed, “you’re being annoying on purpose. Now shut up and let me suffer in peace.”

“Don’t you want my side of the answers?”

“To questions you don’t believe in? No thanks, go take a walk.”

 _She was rather amusing in this state_ , he couldn’t help but think, though he would never wish for it to be constant despite her entertainingly short temper.

“C’mon, you’re the only one who knows the questions and you _know_ it helps when I distract you,” the boy persisted.

Dolores gave a long-suffering sigh, “fine, but only because you’ll stop bothering me about it.”

_Sometimes he was as stubborn as she was._

“I don’t care about the order anymore so I’ll just say the first one I remember,” there was a beat of silence before she spoke again, “if you knew in one year that you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living and why?”

“Can I get out of the apocalypse before a year is up?”

The brunette shrugged, shifting slightly as she tried to find a more comfortable position, “who cares? Sure.”

There was a long moment of silence as Five thought about the best way to word his answer. Of course, he already _knew_ what he would change- he’d get them both out of the apocalypse and he would (potentially) confess his feelings for the girl sitting next to him. He hadn’t even called her by her first name yet, though, so that answer wouldn’t do. Instead, he said, “I suppose being able to stop the end of the world would be enough. I’d return to the past and figure out how to stop the end of the world,” he decided firmly.

“You’re so predictable,” Dolores said, opening her eyes for a moment to allow him to see that she was rolling them at him.

“Am not.”

“Are too. _I_ could’ve answered that question for you.”

 _Not if you knew the real answer_ , he thought. Out loud, he said, “what’s the next one, then?”

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?” the brunette asked, finishing with a grunt that had nothing to do with the subject of the question, “I can answer that one, too. _None_.”

“That’s not true!” he protested before he could stop himself. The boy winced- now he’d have to explain.

Dolores twisted slightly and gave him a half-pained, half-curious look, “do you care to explain?”

 _If she thought_ he _was predictable, then_ she _was even more so,_ “can I say no?”

“Then you wouldn’t be distracting me.”

“Fine,” he paused before he fell into silence. Dolores continued to look at him expectantly, anticipating his answer. Five couldn’t help but smirk slightly. _He knew what would really shock her and_ then _he wouldn’t seem so predictable._ Steeling himself even as his pulse picked up, the teen’s gaze flicked away from the girl’s for a second before he met her eyes again, “I love you,” he said simply.

The brunette’s reaction was almost comical, with her blue eyes widening impossibly and her mouth dropping open in shock as her face turned pink- presumably from the incredulity, “you’re joking, right?” she demanded, “this is some sort of twisted humor you have, some sort of prank. I- I-“ she broke off, stuttering to a stop, “what the _hell_ , Five?”

 _Ouch, that hurt_. _Then again, he’d never given her any indication that he’d felt anything other than companionship._ He made a mental note to start looking into that as he gave the girl a smug look, “you should totally see your face. It’s priceless!” he broke off into laughter as she reached out and repeatedly hit him on the arm.

“You _idiot!_ Don’t give me a heart attack like that! Five!” she protested as he continued to laugh- only some of his humor actually forced. The girl huffed and crossed her arms.

Five eventually let his amusement die away as he grinned at her, “well, I did _kind_ of mean it,” he admitted, not wanting her to think he didn’t like her at _all_. Besides, it would help in the new plan he was forming. He paused before admitting quietly, “you _are_ my best friend.”

Dolores seemed to freeze like a deer in headlights, her eyes staying as wide as dinner plates as she looked at him, trying to see if he was pulling her leg again (not that he had been before, but she didn’t need to know that), “I’m not joking this time,” he told her, knowing exactly what she was thinking. 

The girl’s expression softened and she reached out to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze, “you’re my best friend, too.”

He tried not to let his face warm too much at her gesture _or_ her words, and distracted himself by saying, “alright, next question.” 

The brunette frowned as she wrapped her free arm more tightly around her stomach, her nose slightly scrunched as she tried to remember the next question, “tell your, uh, friend what you like most about them; be very honest and say things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.”

Five shifted uncomfortably, “can I skip that one?”

Dolores smirked slightly, “why, you don’t wanna admit that you have _feelings_?” she asked teasingly.

He could tell she was surprised when he answered honestly, “exactly. It will only distract us from trying to survive.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to compliment me once in a while,” she grumbled, finishing the sentence with an “ouch.”

The boy could feel his expression soften at her pained exclamation and he squeezed her hand gently in comfort as he said, “well fine, but only because you’re not feeling well.”

“I feel fine!”

He rolled his eyes and ignored her protest, “well, I like that you’re not an idiot _most_ of the time,” he started, wincing slightly as she poked him in the side, “and I like that you can- barring the first few months- keep your head in difficult situations. I, well,” he stuttered to a stop, the quickened pulse in his throat choking his words as he spoke more honestly, “I think you’re very brave,” he finished. There was more, of course- there was _always_ more, but _he_ wasn’t brave enough to tell her.

The girl gave him a slightly amused look, “I told you it wouldn’t kill you to be nice, even if you choked on that last part. Geez, it wasn’t _that_ hard, was it?”

 _You have no idea_ , “’course not,” he said instead, “but it only makes sense for you to answer the questions too.”

“ _You’re_ distracting _me_ , not the other way around,” she grunted, leaning slightly more heavily against his arm as her eyes screwed shut.

Five tucked his lower lip between his teeth as he cast a worried look over the girl next to him. Raising his free hand to her forehead, he carefully felt the sweaty skin for an increase in temperature, knowing that sometimes she could get too hot. Luckily, it seemed that she was as comfortable as she could be, though that wasn’t saying much. The boy squeezed her hand again and shifted so that she could put more weight on him, uncertain otherwise of how to help her feel better.

Using his hand to brush her lengthened bangs out of her eyes, he cupped the side of her face and pressed his lips into her hair, “you’re doing so well,” he murmured, “you know it doesn’t last forever. You’re gonna be okay.”

Dolores pressed her face against the rough material of his jacket and made a pained sound in response that made his heart ache. Nervously, the boy moved his thumb gently across the smooth skin of her cheek in encouragement, “you’re gonna be okay,” he repeated softly into her hair, “it has to get worse before it gets better. I know it probably feels as if it’s gone on for hours, but I promise you it’s only been minutes. This won’t even _last_ hours.”

Five knew he’d gotten better at being the ‘provider’ when the brunette needed it by the lack of snappy responses and Dolores’ dependence on his presence when she needed to feel better. The first few cycles had been uncomfortable for him- not because of the bodily movement, but because of the new role that he’d never had to fill before. By now, though, he’d learned how to adjust his responses and attitude to what she needed, reminding himself that it was for _Dolores’_ benefit- not for his.

The brunette lifted her head slightly and let out a shaky sigh as the most recent wave of pain diminished slightly and leaned her head exhaustedly against his shoulder, “if you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? What haven’t you told them yet?”

The sudden question had his brain double-timing to catch up and it took him a moment to realize what she was asking him. Then, when the question _did_ register, the boy felt his face warm slightly as he knew what his _honest_ response would be. _Although_ , he reminded himself a moment later, _I technically_ did _just tell her, even if she didn’t take it in the way I meant it._ As for the answer to what she asked, he said aloud, “I… don’t really regret anything, I think. I don’t have anything I really need to tell anyone.”

The girl’s head shifted against his shoulder and he glanced down to see her looking up at him, “really?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded firmly, “really.”

 _Of course, that wasn’t true at all_.

Five knew that if he _were_ to die tonight, he’d first and foremost regret (barring not being able to stop the apocalypse) not clarifying his feelings for the girl sitting next to him and leading her to believe that all he felt for her was strong friendship. He’d regret not having the courage to ask her for a kiss- like the boy in her favorite book never got- and he’d regret never being able to see her again.

There were so many details that made up who Dolores was as a person that it was almost impossible to keep track of them all. She shared openly, whether it was with her feelings or her past, which was something he admired about her. She wasn’t afraid to admit when she was scared or hurt or sad and she knew how to identify all of those feelings, which was something he never really had the chance to learn how to do. She was selfless in sharing what she had, whether it be her time, her belongings or even her life, none of which his siblings had deigned to do.

Even if she didn’t believe it herself, _he_ knew that Dolores was intelligent and caring and brave. He admired her bravery and perseverance most of all, even in the little things in their day-to-day lives. She had relatively no power over her situation- unlike him- and yet she never flinched or backed down, even when they were standing at the gates of this hell. She never yielded or got flustered in their verbal sparring or lost her head when they needed to work together to figure out how to survive.

There were little things, too. Like how her nose would scrunch up in thought as she tried to recall something or how she’d flick her hair back before returning one of his remarks. She was quicker to smile and laugh than he was and when she did, her blue eyes would turn bright as the sea when the sun shone on the waves. Even when they darkened in anger or sadness, they were still strikingly framed by her dark hair as she pushed her ever-growing bangs out of her eyes. Five knew he’d miss that part of her when it was well and truly gone, but it was only a minor thing in all of the facets that made up Dolores Gimbel.

Somehow, over the last two years, she’d changed from someone he could hardly stand to someone he cared about. It was terrifying, really to depend on a person so much when he’d never felt that way about another anyone before. Dolores had become the rock upon which he built his foundation and he knew that he could _never_ learn to live without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my weekend definitely took an unexpected turn (for the better) and I went on a trip, which meant that I had a lot of time to write since I didn't have to work. I've got the next two weeks' worth of chapters 90% ready and let me tell you guys... I don't think _you're_ ready for them... just so you know to prepare yourselves (for good things) :) 
> 
> We will be back to our regularly scheduled programming this Wednesday!


	21. Hooked on a Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do you remember that little mansion outside of the city limits? Where we-“_

Their frequent walks took them on different paths as days went by in hopes that the changes in scenery would keep things interesting. For the most part, it didn’t. It was still a surprise, though, when Five and Dolores stumbled across a dilapidated mansion that was- amazingly- still mostly standing. The pair stared up at the structure in moderate shock as it was the tallest building they’d seen since their the apocalypse even if it _was_ mostly collapsed (the right wing, however, was pretty much completely intact.)

“Should we look around?” Lola asked, almost hopefully. If the outside of the building was untouched, maybe there were useful things _inside._

The boy next to her frowned, “it might only _look_ stable. Even the faintest wind could knock it over.”

“Yeah, well, you could just blink us out of there,” she suggested, “there might actually be something useful.”

Five’s sharp green eyes studied the structure critically as he weighed the options, “I suppose that _is_ possible,” he allowed, “but it might just be a waste of time.”

“We have plenty of time to waste,” she countered before dropping the handle of the wagon and making her way towards the mansion.

The surrounding outdoor space was probably once beautiful, with bright green gardens and colorful flowers that lined the walkways. Now, though, the only remnants of any sort of previous décor was the cracked paths that wove around burned and broken sticks that used to be plants.

As the girl tried the door, the boy finally leapt into action, “Do- hey, idiot,” he called as he ran to catch up to her, “you can’t just go bursting in there.”

The brunette turned pointedly so he would be able to see her eye roll, “yeah, I can. No one’s gonna stop me.”

Five crossed his arms as his eyes narrowed, “yeah, and what if the whole thing collapses because everything’s balancing on the door?”

Lola let out an irritated sigh and flicked her tangled hair out of her face before placing her hands on her hips as she stood to face him, “alright, what’s your plan, genius?”

“I’ll blink us in.”

“You’re supposed to be conserving energy.”

“Well, since you’re _so_ insistent on getting inside, this is the only way I’ll allow it.”

Their eyes met as they each dared the other to back down. Five’s jaw clenched in irritation and Lola shifted her feet so they were shoulder-width apart: a classic rebellious stance.

“What if you need to blink and you’ve run out of fuel?” she challenged.

“I’ll deal with it,” he shot back, “but I’m not letting you inside in a way that will damage the integrity of the framework.”

“You’re being obnoxious.”

Despite the insult, the boy couldn’t help but smirk triumphantly. _He’d won_. Whenever Dolores went to name-calling, he knew she’d already caved, “I’m being _careful_ , so sorry for worrying about your safety.”

She gave him another irritated glance and huffed as his fingers tightened around her wrist. She tried not to feel _too_ pleased about the action (as annoyed as she was with him) and found herself inside the next moment.

As it turned out, their arguing was nearly pointless. The mansion had most likely been a summer home and, with it being April when the apocalypse happened, there were no truly useful supplies that were kept while the family was away. The right wing’s first floor held a large kitchen, a sitting room, several connecting hallways, two bathrooms, and a staircase that led to the second level. Five had disappeared somewhere out of sight, so Lola decided to risk his nagging and took a few cautious steps upwards.

It was all she was able to do, though, since the second half of the stair case was blocked by collapsed supports. With a huff of annoyance, she returned to the main room where the boy was studying the dusty remaining furniture and useless nick nacks.

“Maybe they had a library,” Lola suggested after a moment, “most mansions do, don’t they?”

“And you have experience with mansions, do you?” the boy returned as he straightened from examining a cluttered, cobwebbed shelf.

The girl decided not to answer that and instead asked, “find anything interesting?”

“Nothing. I was thinking we could maybe use the cushions for something but they’re… well, you don’t want to use them,” he finished, looking a bit disgusted.

“You eat bugs for breakfast, idiot. _That’s_ something to be disgusted by, but whatever. Anyway, the second floor’s blocked,” she said.

The boy rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, “so that’s it, then, isn’t it? I told you it would be a waste of time.”

“We could still get up there since you’ve decided to be stupid about this whole thing,” Lola pointed out.

Five rolled his eyes, “ _I’m_ not being the stupid one- you’re the one that wanted to waste time here anyway. I’m just making sure _you_ don’t get killed.”

“I don’t know why-“ she started before she was interrupted by the familiar tug on her wrist and then her stomach before the pair reappeared in the upstairs part, “ _Five_! You interrupted me!”

“I know,” the boy’s response was smug, “you were going to say something idiotic so I thought I’d save you the trouble.”

The brunette scowled at him and turned her back on the boy in irritation, only for her expression to brighten a moment later, “a _bed_!” she all but squealed happily. The girl ran towards it but the boy was faster as his hand flashed out to grab her arm causing her feet to skid to a halt.

“Slow _down_ ,” he scolded her, “you don’t know-“

“I know enough,” she interrupted him, bouncing eagerly on her toes, “c’mon! Oh, it’s been _ages_ since we slept on anything other than the ground!”

Five remained resolutely in place, preparing to argue with her _again_ about being careful- and _he_ was usually the one at the receiving end of the lecture! Lola turned towards him, her gaze bright and excited as she tugged purposefully on his hand, “c’mon, Fives.”

The boy blinked, “what?”

Lola tilted her head slightly, “what, what?”

“What did you call me?”

Her face warmed. _Shoot. Why did she have to let that slip?_ “Uh, nothing.”

Five knew he should let it go. That it probably didn’t mean anything. That it was either just a slip of the tongue or something he misheard. But he didn’t, “you used my name differently.”

“It’s called a nickname, idiot.”

“Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed slightly, “I’m not going to let you get out of this. Say it again.”

Lola’s face felt _very_ hot right now and she couldn’t meet his gaze, “I said ‘c’mon, Fives.’ I- uh, that was an acc-”

“No it wasn’t,” he cut across her softly, “I don’t mind.”

 _Oh_.

Now she _really_ couldn’t meet his eyes. Her gaze flicked back towards the bed that she’d previously been excited about. As her eyes studied the furniture in front of her, some of her prior enthusiasm returned and she gave a little bounce, “look at all the _pillows_! We could have a pillow fight!”

“A what?”

The question made her turn back around, “don’t tell me you don’t know what a pillow fight is,” she said incredulously.

When the boy shook his head, she openly gaped at him, “ _how_? I mean, you should at least _sort of_ know what they are! You had siblings!”

“That I never really did anything remotely fun with,” he reminded her.

The girl’s blue eyes brightened and she began to tug on his arm insistently, “c’mon, let’s have _fun_ , then. I’ll show you!”

When he still didn’t move, Lola faced him again and stuck out her lower lip slightly as her eyes widened pleadingly. She used her new leverage to her advantage, “c’mon _Fives_.”

If she was going to be embarrassed about that, she might as well get something from it. Five sighed as he tried to ignore the sudden warmth on his face, “ _fine_.”

She shot him a brilliant smile, “it’s not like I’m asking you to clean the toilet, idiot. C’mon!”

This time, she successfully pulled him towards the bed. After climbing on to the fluffy surface- that had surprisingly maintained its original quality- she turned and grabbed one of the many pillows. Using the springy surface to bounce her steps, Lola took advantage of the boy’s divided attention as he climbed onto the bed and gave him a soft _whack_ on the head that caught him by surprise and sent him tumbling towards the mattress.

“Hey! I-“ he started indignantly.

“Snooze you lose!” she said cheerfully, “this is a game of speed and self-defense and seizing an opening. You gotta move faster.”

Five’s eyes narrowed, “you want faster?”

“Yeah, that’s the whole-“ the brunette started before a blue flash interrupted her.

The boy reappeared holding a pillow and used it to effectively knock her off her feet, “hey! No powers!” she protested as she scrambled back up.

“It’s not my fault you don’t have any. I’m just _adapting_!” this time when he went to hit her, the girl’s pillow blocked him.

They exchanged several more volleys until he grew bored and stared using his powers again to get an advantage. Lola was a quick learner and kept trying to anticipate where he’d pop up again. She couldn’t help the excited giggles that escaped her mouth as she waited for his reappearance and subsequent attacks. The girl’s enthusiasm was _nearly_ infectious and Five found himself smiling _almost_ against his will as he admitted- to himself, only- that this _was_ actually kind of fun.

During on of Lola’s particularly well-placed hits, she sent both the boy sprawling and feathers flying as her pillow lost its integrity. Bouncing around the flurry of white, she tried to grab another weapon before the boy stood up, but he was faster and used _her_ divided attention to retaliate from the first hit. Except- it didn’t go exactly as he planned.

On her way towards the mattress, Lola’s hand reached out and grabbed at the boy, her grip landing on his sleeve, which caused him to topple down with her. He landed with a grunt on something that _definitely_ wasn’t the fluffy mattress. His face warmed again as he realized not _what_ but _who_ he’d fallen on top of.

The girl was still giggling breathlessly underneath him at her success of his downfall, their current position not yet dawning on her, “I got you,” she said happily, “it’s a draw.”

The teen propped himself up on his forearms to stare at the brunette intently until the last of her laughter died away as her eyes flicked up to meet his. A smile was still playing on her lips and her tangled hair was spread around her head like a dark halo as her eyes sparkled up towards him. With a jolt, Five realized that this was probably the happiest he’d ever seen her and, while a part of him felt guilty that that was true, the larger part of him was more focused on her smile.

Lola was the type of person who smiled with her whole face. As her lips curved up, her eyes brightened and she became _vibrant_ no matter how small the gesture started out as. The boy’s gaze continued to remain on her lips even as he tried to pull his eyes up. _Why couldn’t he look away?_

Underneath him, the brunette felt her face warm again as she saw _where_ the boy was looking. She’d read about a million scenarios where the main character was kissed and had loved every single one of them, but now that- that it was happening to _her_ (was it? Or was she just reading into this too much?) her pulse picked up and something similar to fear- but _not_ fear, because she could _never_ be afraid of her best friend- tightened her throat. Her hands felt frigid as they were wont to do when she was excited or nervous or scared and now all _her_ eyes were able to do were focus on _Five’s_ lips.

The air became charged between them as the boy’s face hesitantly came closer. _It felt (and was) as if truly just the two of them in the entire world._

Lola’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the warmth of _his_ breath gently hit her face. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she pictured what it might be like to kiss him- her words from years earlier about not getting a chance to fall in love completely wrong- and then she remembered that he was going to _leave_.

It would already be hard enough for her best friend to abandon her, but to have her best friend and someone she cared about more than anyone else (a wordy title, but she wasn’t ready to think of Five as her _boyfriend_ ) leave her at the same time? That would be _too_ much hurt and she could never prepare herself for that.

So, she panicked and said the first thing that came out of her mouth, “your breath stinks!”

The boy jerked back as if he’d been slapped, “w-what?”

Lola gently pushed him on to the bed and scrambled away from him, making an effort to exaggerate her disgust as her heart raced painfully in her chest, “your breath stinks,” she repeated.

“So does yours,” he pointed out, avoiding her gaze. _Had he really just been about to kiss her?_

“Yeah, but I can _smell_ yours. I can’t smell mine,” the brunette pressed her chilly hands to her warm face in an effort to cool it down, her gaze focused somewhere over the boy’s shoulder.

“Whatever,” Five said, rolling his eyes. _Had she really wanted to kiss him back? What had scared her?_ He was glad, at least, that he had an excellent poker face- not that it helped him in the actual game- and he could hide his disappointment and sting of hurt without making her feel uncomfortable. Still, despite his efforts, there _was_ tense silence that had never followed any of their words before.

In the following days, the brunette wasn’t sure how to act around him and was _very_ wary about being anywhere close to the boy, often jumping and startling badly when he stood at what would’ve been a comfortable distance _before_ what happened in the mansion.

Five did his best not to think about what might’ve been had he been able to kiss Dolores as he always found that sort of thought useless and a waste of time. It still didn’t help that he felt the prick of hurt whenever he thought about how she’d avoided kissing him or the new wariness in her eyes as if she expected him to suddenly start kissing her right there and then, without her permission.

Which he would _never_ do- surely she knew that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe..... what you've all been waiting for is coming soon :) 
> 
> Anyway... S3 WAS JUST CONFIRMED!!!!!!!!!! They start filming in February and I can't wait! I'm now even more excited to write for S1 and 2 for this series. It's gonna be super fun!! 
> 
> We only have nine chapters left before we get to canon :)


	22. I'm High on Believin' That You're in Love With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Yeah, well, it turns out the wine cellar was untouched. Picked up a few cases of your favorite Bordeaux.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations provided in the notes at the bottom!
> 
> You're welcome :)

**_2 (more) years later_ **

**Approximate age: 21**

_“Alouette, gentille alouette, Alouette, je te plumeria, Je te plumerai la tête, Je te plumerai la tête Et la tête! Et la tête! Alouette, Alouette! Oh, oh, oh, oh,”_ Lola sang the French words as she pulled the wagon behind her. She had no idea how the song got stuck in her head, but it was there now and she _had_ to sing it or else she’d go nuts, _“alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumeria, je te plumerai le bec, je te plumerai le bec, et le bec! Et le bec! Et la tête! Et la tête! Alouette! Alouette! Oh, oh, oh, oh.”_

Next to her, Five gave her a surprised look, “you sing that quite fluently. Do you speak French?”

Lola laughed, “that’s all I know of French. My mom took it in high school and learned the song which she sometimes sung while cleaning the house. I barely speak Spanish.”

“But you _do_ speak Spanish?”

“Nah, not really. It was only rudimentary and there’s only one thing that I remember from freshman year, which is this: ¡ ay, caramba! ¡ Cuando arreglan me quarto no encuantro nada! ¡ Mama, Tia Louisa! ¡ _Como gritas, hijo! ¡ No estamos sordas!_ ¿Donde estas mis cosas? _Todo esta en su lugar¹_ ,” her voice turned monotone, “Spanish II, lesson thirteen,” and then back to regular, “and that’s all I know.”

He gave her an amused look, “you _do_ know Alouette is about plucking the feathers off a lark, right?”

The brunette grimaced slightly, “really? I had no idea. Like I said, that’s all I know of French. I can’t even translate the song,” she caught his pleased expression, “what?”

“I know more languages than you,” he said, his voice slightly sing-song.

Lola rolled her eyes, unimpressed, “I’m not surprised since you’re a genius.”

“You think I’m a genius?”

The girl turned to him with a flat look, “Fives, you _are_ a genius. I don’t have to think it for that to be true.”

“But you _do_ think I’m a genius?” he pressed.

She blinked, confused, “uh, didn’t I just say that?”

“You could say it again,” he suggested, trying not to feel _too_ pleased about her compliment (it was true, after all).

“I don’t need to inflate your ego anymore, idiot. Besides, it’s not like that’s the first time I’ve said it. Anyway, how many languages _do_ you know?”

“Seven,” he announced proudly.

Lola’s feet stilled and she turned to look at him with shock, “ _seven_? _Fluently_?”

“Yep.”

“Way to be an overachiever and make me look bad,” she huffed as she resumed walking.

“It’s not like I had a choice,” Five reminded her, “my… father always had a high bar for me and my siblings. Even if we didn’t want to learn the languages, we still had to.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure you would’ve done it anyway even if you _had_ a choice. Which seven do you speak? And is English included?”

“English isn’t included. I can speak French, Spanish, Russian, Greek, German, Korean and Arabic.”

“Geez,” Lola responded eloquently.

The boy’s lips quirked up in a smile at her reaction, _“I ya mogu skazat' tebe na vsekh nikh, chto lyublyu tebya_ ².”

“I have no idea what you just said but you better not have insulted me,” the brunette huffed.

\--

A few days later found them rummaging through a previously untouched collapsed building. Now that they were years into the apocalypse instead of months, they were becoming much more thorough in their search for supplies and worked their way methodically through the streets whenever Five wasn’t focusing on his equations which wasn’t often (he refused to let Lola go out by herself.)

The girl was busily shifting piles of rock as she ignored the gnawing hunger in her stomach- a now common feeling that she was _almost_ used to. She’d cleared a rather large patch to get down to the base of what was originally a store to see if there was anything useful hiding underneath and startled slightly when her hand brushed something that was clearly _not_ natural. She picked up the cool, smooth, bottle-shaped item and blew off the dust that covered the surface thickly. She was rather surprised when she discovered she was holding _glass_ , since most of it hadn’t survived the impact of whatever ended the world. The bottle must’ve fallen _just right_ to avoid the crushing weight of the building collapsing on top of it.

Using her fingers to clean off the rest of the label, the girl called the boy over, “hey, I think I found something!”

Five stuck his hands in his pockets and made his way over to the brunette to curiously peer over her shoulder at the item she held. The girl squinted slightly and tilted the bottle to better read the words, “I think it says _Bordeaux,_ ” she read, except she pronounced the last word as ‘Bored-ox.’

“Let me see that,” Five said, tugging the glass from her hands and wiping at it with his own sleeve, “you were right about not knowing how to speak French. It’s _Bordeaux_ ,” he corrected her.

“ _Bordeaux_ ,” Lola tried again, this time pronouncing it ‘Bordie-ew.’

“No,” Five said with an amused look, “it’s _Bor-dow_. The -aux ending makes an ‘ow’ sound and the ‘e’ is silent.”

The brunette glared at the offending bottle, “why put all those letters in there if you’re not gonna use them?”

“But you _are_ using them,” he answered, “if the ‘a’ or the ‘u’ isn’t there, then the ending would sound completely different.”

“But there’s no point for the ‘e’.”

“The ‘e’ helps the ‘ _bor_ ’ sound how it does. Try again.”

“ _Bordeaux_ ,” the girl repeated grumpily.

“Very good!”

“Yeah, yeah, no need to be so patronizing. Maybe there’s more of that dumb wine if this is an liquor store. I think that we _did_ just turn twenty-one, so we can celebrate with that.”

“I’ll put this in the cart,” he offered as the Lola turned back to her search.

\--

A few hours later, they returned to the half-standing library with three bottles of _Bordeaux_ and Five’s good find of a whole bottle of whiskey. The man set about starting their evening fire while Lola continued to clean off the surface of the glass before placing the four bottles in a neat row, “what d’you think it tastes like?”

“I dunno. Klaus is the only one who would and he’s not here right now.”

“My dad and uncle always had two fingers of whiskey every night and my mom had spiked coffee but they never let me try any of it. How trashed can you get with a whole _bottle_?”

“Well, we can always find out,” Five said with a shrug, “it’s not like there’s anything else important going on.”

“Except for your equations,” Lola reminded him.

“It’s getting too dark to do those so it doesn’t matter. Anyway, what d’you want to try first?”

“I guess the wine. It seems like I’d like that more and I’d rather have something I _don’t_ like when I’m already drunk. Isn’t there a proper order to this sort of thing, though?”

“Who cares? Wine it is, then,” he finished with the fire before reaching for one of the bottles.

“Hey, hey, not so fast,” the brunette tugged it from his grip, “we’ve gotta do _cheers_ first.”

“Fine,” he allowed with a sigh, “what d’you want to say?”

“To French pronunciations and finally having a chance to eat- _drink_ fruit,” Lola giggled, “and to this dumb wine being easier to pronounce. Your turn,” she handed him the bottle.

“To your idiotic ideas and to someday _hopefully_ figuring out the business of time-travelling,” he responded as he rolled his eyes.

After an initial struggle of freeing cork from the neck, Lola took the first sip. She immediately made a face at the sourness of the liquid and stuck her arm out to give the bottle to the man sitting next to her, “it’s gross,” she declared.

“It takes an acquired taste,” he corrected her, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a sip. It took a great deal of willpower to _also_ not grimace at the flavor. Deciding that she probably wouldn’t be having any more, he drank occasionally from the bottle as his eyes watched the flames flicker in the growing darkness.

After almost five minutes, Lola spoke again, “are you gonna pass that back over?”

“I thought you didn’t like it.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t _want_ it. If you’re getting drunk I’m not staying sober.”

With a sigh, Five handed the bottle back to the brunette, who took a few more sips followed by grimaces. They sat in a companionable silence as they passed the wine back and forth, the woman’s eyes focused upward on the infinite blackness above them while the man’s stayed on the orange glow in front of them. After a while, Lola shifted so that her head rested on his shoulder and her back pressed against one of his arms as he kept himself propped up. Five made no sound of complaint- not that he ever _would_ \- and moved to close the space between their sides and to rest his head on top of hers.

Leaning all of their weight on his left hand, he used his right to take another sip of the wine. It was probably due to their lack of food that it was affecting them almost immediately, but he could tell that the weight of trying to survive in the apocalypse and all the feelings that came with the woman sitting next to him felt _lighter_. He shifted again to stretch his legs out towards the fire before passing the bottle to the brunette to allow her to have a turn.

“You know what sucks?” Lola asked after a while, her voice slightly slurred.

“What?”

“Being in love,” she said with a sigh, “it’s supposed to be great but it just _hurts_.”

“Tell me about it,” Five agreed, his own words pushed together, “especially when the person you love doesn’t love you back.”

“Mmm,” the woman agreed, “or when the person you love is going to leave you by yourself in this wasteland. It makes me want to stay drunk for the rest of my life.”

Five leaned his head back on top of hers and pressed his cheek into the woman’s dark hair, “who’s gonna leave you? I’d tie ‘em up and make ‘em stay for you.”

“You can’t tie yourself up, Fives,” the brunette said with a laugh, “and I’d never want to hold you back from your goal,” she tried to take another sip from the bottle and pouted, “poo, it’s all gone.”

“Hold on a sec,” he stretched as far as possible without shifting the woman leaning against him and snagged the last bottle in his fingers. After a few moments of struggle, he finally got the top off, “you wanna make a toast?”

Lola sighed and took the bottle from him, “to my best friend who’s gonna ditch me and then make my life miserable.”

“W-w-wait,” he said as he tried to comprehend what she’d said, “what d’you mean I’m gonna ditch you? Unless you’ve got another best friend?”

The brunette turned to look up into the man’s face feeling sharp pricks at the back of her eyes at the thought of _never_ being able to see him again, “you’re gonna leave,” she reminded him in a whisper, “remember? When you figure out the equations? To save the world?”

Five frowned, “but you’re coming with me.”

She shook her head, “you said that you wouldn’t waste time on me and that I belonged in _this_ time, so you’re gonna leave me behind, and that sucks because- because-“ her eyes grew watery as she failed to tell him the most important thing. _Because she loved him_.

He gave her an alarmed look but his voice was soft as he spoke, “hey, hey, don’t cry,” he pleaded, his hands coming up to cup her face gently, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. We’re _both_ gonna make it out of this.”

Lola shook her head as best she could between his hands, “you-you’re gonna leave m-me,” she whispered, crying in earnest when she couldn’t hold back her tears any longer, “you’re gon-gonna leave me and-“ she broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

Five let his hands drop from her face so he could wrap his arms around the brunette and pull her closer. Lola buried her face against his chest as she continued to cry, the worry and anxiety about being left alone forever that she’d kept a tight lid on finally spilling over. The man’s fingers gently pet her tangled hair and she could feel him press his face close to her ear as he murmured, “hey, I’m _not_ going to leave you. There’s no force on this earth- even when it was still an earth- that could make me leave you behind. You’re coming with me,” he repeated, “I’ve been reworking the equations for two-person time travel so you _can_ come.”

Sniffling slightly, Lola looked up at him through teary eyes, “r-really?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I fixed them awhile ago. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

The brunette pulled away from him and wiped at her eyes and cheeks as she looked away in embarrassment, “s-sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I-“ she broke off again, this time reaching for the remaining wine bottle.

Her head felt light and spin-y but her nose was now stuffy and clogged and she just wanted everything to _stop_. She lifted the bottle to her lips and let the liquid slide down her throat for several long seconds before Five started to protest as he placed his hand on the bottle, “hey, save some for me!”

“Get your own,” she answered once she’d lowered the drink.

Rolling his eyes, the man reached over for the bottle of whiskey he’d scrounged up and took a sip from that instead. He was unable to hide the wince at the burn that the wine hadn’t had, but after a few more mouthfuls he realized it was actually kind of pleasant.

When he put the alcohol on the ground, he turned back towards the brunette next to him. The woman’s face was flushed from both the wine and the fire, her cheeks turning a pretty pink as her eyes sparkled with remaining tears and the glazed look alcohol leaves behind. Her dark hair framed her face messily and his gaze was- once again, as he often found it- drawn to her lips. The man shifted closer to her, “Dolly,” he started softly, only to be interrupted.

“Dolly? Who’s Dolly?” Lola asked.

“You, you idiot.”

“But I’m Lola.”

“Not to me you’re not,” Five said, some of the firmness in his voice lost from his slurred words. He focused his eyes as best he could on hers, “you’ve never been a _Lola_ to me. I still uphold that that’s a dumb name.”

Lola frowned, her lips pulling into an exaggerated pout, “then what am I to you?”

The man leaned forward slightly and he raised his right hand to tuck some of her tangled hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing lightly against her face. _Even that simple action was enough to send his heart pounding_.

The brunette gave him a curious look which softened as his palm cupped her cheek. To his surprise, she leaned easily into his touch without flinching as she’d had for months after the almost-kiss years ago. The woman’s eyes opened again to look hopefully into his, “you promise you won’t leave me, Fives?” she asked quietly.

“I swear it,” he answered in the same tone, leaning even closer to her, “and I’ll tell you what you are to me.”

“What’s that?” the woman asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The man’s nose was now brushing hers and she could feel his breath gently hitting her face, but this time she didn’t panic, not when Five _promised_ to bring her along- she trusted him, with everything. If he wasn’t going to leave her behind, then there was nothing to be frightened _of_.

“You’re Dolores,” Five answered simply, his lips barely centimeters from hers.

Lola’s eyes blinked open, “that’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”

His lips quirked slightly, “you were right when you said that when I used your name, I’d be in love with you.”

“Y-you’re in love with me?” it was hard to think straight with both the wine and his emerald green eyes looking at her _like that_.

“Yeah, who would’ve guessed?” he asked with a light laugh, “but I am.”

The brunette bit her lip, looking uncertain, “I think I love you too.”

“You think?” the man asked teasingly, his eyes brightening from emerald to mossy green.

“W-well, I’ve never _been_ in love, so- so I don’t want to be _wrong_ ,” she started.

“It’s not something you can be wrong about,” Five- in _all_ of his wisdom- said, “you either you are or you aren’t.”

“Then I am,” Lola’s eyes met his, “I’m in love with you, Five Hargreeves.”

“And I’m in love with you, Dolores Gimbel,” he answered softly, his eyes flicking over her face, half unable to believe that she was _truly_ real.

“Say my name again,” she asked quietly and to her credit, she barely startled when she felt the man’s lips gently brush against her forehead.

“Dolores,” he whispered, moving down to lightly kiss her nose, “Gimbel.”

Then, he kissed her.

The woman’s lips were soft and warm as they met his and she froze at first, caught off guard. She recovered quickly, though, and responded with equal- or greater- enthusiasm. She underestimated her own strength and her fervor sent them both toppling over into the compact dirt underneath them. Their lips broke apart as the couple started laughing at their clumsiness, the brunette tucking her face into the man’s shoulder as she felt him shake slightly from the action. Her giggles were the first to quiet and she pushed herself up to look into the man’s face to smile softly at the rare happiness that lit his eyes.

Then, _she_ kissed _him_.

Five’s lips tasted of alcohol and she could feel the faint scratch of his beard against her face.

Dolores’ lips tasted of dust and wine.

\--

Lola woke the next morning with a pounding headache.

Squinting her eyes against the unnaturally bright sunlight, she turned her head to bury it in the pillow she was lying on top of to block out the sharpness. When her vision was dark again, she was able to relax into the slightly rough fabric that pressed against her face. As she became more aware of other things besides the pain in her head, she realized that her body was tilted at an awkward angle and her upper half was raised slightly. Her hands- which were usually folded under her head in sleep- weren’t in their normal place; her right was resting slightly above her head and the left was gripping at something hard and rounded (a shoulder).

Braving the uncomfortable light again, she lifted her head to see about her odd position and her face immediately flushed. _She’d fallen asleep on top of Five._ Why _had she fallen asleep on top of Five?_ She made an effort to scramble away from him without waking the man, but she was held in place by both of his arms which were wrapped securely around her waist. Lola felt her face heat up even more at the… _close_ way they’d fallen asleep together. They’d spent _years_ in the apocalypse and the closest he’d ever been was _hugging_ her and _that_ had been against his will. (Or so she thought.)

She tried to recall the events from last night after they’d returned to the library and her narrowed eyes scanned the area for clues. They landed on the four empty alcohol bottles that they’d picked up the day before and her eyes widened before she winced and shut them again. _Had they really drunk four bottles of alcohol? Talk about great life decisions._

That still didn’t explain how they’d ended up like this, though.

Lola registered movement underneath her and startled as the man began to wake. His eyes flicked open and he immediately squinted them, “god, my head hurts.”

She didn’t reply, hoping he wouldn’t notice their… _predicament_ and she could escape before he did. She had no such luck, however, as his eyes focused on her again, “what-“ he started, before trailing off.

The brunette purposefully avoided his gaze but even as he took in their situation, his arms didn’t relax from around her waist. Five watched her uncomfortable expression as he made an effort to recall the night before. He remembered drinking the alcohol- _had they had all of it_?- and consoling an upset Dolores. ( _Why hadn’t he told her about the fixed equations sooner?_ ) And- _he’d kissed her_. That wasn’t something he could easily forget. He could immediately recall the softness of her lips and the dry, slightly gritty taste of her mouth on his. He remembered how she’d accidently pushed them both over and the ensuing laughter and how, for the entire night, he’d completely forgotten about the apocalypse.

Lola’s gaze flicked momentarily to the man’s and they darted away again, “why are you looking at me like that?”

“Don’t you remember what happened last night?” he asked in response.

The woman shook her head, her gaze meeting his again, “do you?”

For the briefest of moments, Five considered playing dumb. He’d never _been_ dumb, though, and the important thing was that _she’d kissed him back_ , “well,” he said, reaching a hand up to tuck some of Dolores’ brown hair behind her ear, “let me jog your memory.”

He shifted to an upright position so that their chests were almost pressed together. The brunette tried to look away out of embarrassment, but his hand reached up to cup her face again and keep it still. As he began to lean forward, Lola’s eyes widened, “w-we- we _kissed_?” she stuttered out, unable to believe that she’d let her guard down.

The man’s forward progress stopped as his eyes lifted to hers, “yep, and it was quite a repeatable experience if I do say so myself.”

“B-but- but we _can’t,_ ” she protested and his expression turned confused.

“Why not?”

She pushed him gently away to give herself space, “because you’re going to _leave_. I can’t lose my best friend _and_ my heart all at once. I won’t let you-“

“Dolores,” Five interrupted her, “you’re coming with me. I told you that last night.”

At the use of her name, her blue eyes snapped to his green ones, “ _what_?”

“We’ve already been over this,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “I used your name last night and said ‘I love you.’ You said ‘I love you’ back. I promised you’re coming with me when we stop the apocalypse. We kissed. Is that enough recap for you?”

 _He’d called her Dolores_. Lola had never really liked her ‘real’ name, feeling that it was too old-fashioned and the meaning behind it was too, well, _sad_ , but when Five said it… maybe it wasn’t so bad after all, “bu-“

She didn’t get a chance to finish her protest.

 _It turned out Five made a_ very _good argument._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Oh my! When you rearrange my room, I can't find anything! Mama, Aunt Louisa! _How you shout, son! We aren't deaf!_ Where are my things? _Everything is in its place!_  
>  2\. And I can tell you that I love you in all of them.
> 
> They're finally a "real" couple!! I've had this scene planned in my head for months and it was a relief to finally get it written down. I hope it was everything you guys wanted! 
> 
> We've got one more apocalypse-centered chapter and then we move on to The Commission! I can tell you next week's chapter is double the usual length as a Thanksgiving present :) (I totally didn't plan it this way... haha.) 
> 
> Edit: so... math isn't my strong suit and it turns out I miscounted the number of chapters that are left. I'm sorry, that's totally my bad. If I could, I would add three extra chapters, but I really want to get to s1, so I'm going to keep it at 27. I don't want to short cut you guys but I don't think you'll be missing out on much. I'd rather have fewer good chapters than force myself to write more... less-good chapters. Again, I'm sorry about that! 
> 
> Only five more chapters to go until season one!!


	23. Reelin' in the Years

**_(Three Squeezes Mean) I-Love-You_ (Age 5) **

Lola skipped happily down the street with her uncle on their way home from Gimbel’s Brothers. While it was a long walk for a little girl, Lola preferred spending time outside rather than in a stuffy car. Besides, if she got _really_ tired, she could ask her uncle for a piggy-back ride. As always, her gaze was focused on the ground as she watched the pavement disappear under her feet. Her left hand was holding on to her uncle’s larger, warm right one and she was swinging their joined hands between them.

“Uncle Ed?” she asked, her blue eyes glued to the cracked pavement (crack number 20, 21, 22…)

“Yeah, Sequins?”

“Where do people go when they die?”

If he was surprised by such a question from a girl her age, he didn’t show it. Instead, he asked, “why d’you wanna know?”

The little girl shrugged (40, 41, 42), “I was just thinking that it would be like sleeping for a long, long time and sleep is kinda like a sample phase of death.”

The older man wasn’t even put off by her observation, “well, of course no one _really_ knows what happens when you die,” he started slowly, “and everyone believes in different things. Some people have faith in heaven where all of your past loved ones are. Some people believe that a Hell exists where you are eternally punished for your sins. Some people think that _nothing_ happens and you simply stop existing. Some people believe in reincarnation where only your physical body dies but your soul is reborn as someone else.”

“So like your Multiverse stories?” Lola asked.

“Sort of,” he agreed, glancing down at the girl. She was still completely focused on the path her feet were taking.

“What d’you believe, Uncle Ed?” she bent to pick up a straw that had been disposed of on the sidewalk (piece-of-trash number one, crack number 58.)

“I’ve never really thought about it,” _lie_ , “but I imagine that dying as easier than falling asleep,” he told her, “and then you’re at peace, no matter what you believe or where you end up.” _Truth._

“So it’s not something scary?” Lola sidestepped a dead bird in their path (dead animal number one, crack 72.)

“No. Well, you should be respectful of it,” he decided, “you know how your dad tells you not to swat at the bees but also that they won’t hurt you when they fly around your head?”

“Yeah?”

“Death is sort of like that. You know it’s there and it can hurt if you try to make it go away, but if you accept that there’s nothing you can do about it, it won’t be so painful.”

“Oh, okay. I love you, Uncle Ed,” (crack number 102.)

“I love you too, Sequins,” Edward answered, squeezing her hand gently three times.

“Why’d you do that? You’ve done it before,” the girl observed.

“Well, three squeezes means _I-love-you_ ,” he explained, “sometimes you don’t always want to tell the person verbally, so you can do it quietly, like this,” he demonstrated again and she followed his example.

“There’s also the longer version,” he squeezed her hand four times.

“What does that mean?”

“ _’Do-you-love-me_.’”

“Yes, of course-“

“Then you do this,” he interrupted her, squeezing her hand three times, “it means ‘ _yes-I-do’_ and then I do this,” two squeezes this time, “ _’how much?’_ and you can answer by squeezing my hand as hard as you can.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you!”

He laughed quietly, “you couldn’t if you tried, Sequins.”

**_Bugs_ (Age 16)**

Lola was still getting used to the frequent hunger pangs that came with the territory of surviving the apocalypse. They were intensely uncomfortable and she sometimes had to stop and wrap her arm around her stomach until they eased. They’d been low on supplies for a little while now and had just finished up their last can of food two days ago with nothing else to eat since then. Five was currently rummaging through a pile of rubble nearby while Lola took a break and sat on a fallen piece of building. She felt sticky and dirty and had often fantasized about taking a shower as soon as she left this place, though the knowledge that she _never_ would always remained in the back of her mind.

She was shaken from her thoughts as Five returned, something small and dark grasped between his fingers and his mouth was moving as if he were chewing on something, “here, try this,” he said, holding the item out to her.

Lola leaned forward to inspect it only to jerk away in horror, “that’s a _bug_!” she practically squealed.

Five allowed an amused smile to cross his face, “yup. They’re not so bad.”

“Yuck, yuck, yuck. No thank- _you_ ,” she scrambled away from him.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” there was a slight note of impatience in his tone, “this is all we have.”

“I’d rather starve,” the brunette said, wrinkling her nose.

“It tastes like chicken,” he responded, his voice deadpan.

Lola shook her head violently, her dark hair whipping about her face, “yuck, yuck, yuck,” she repeated, gagging slightly, “nope. Nope-ity, nope, nope.”

The boy rolled his eyes and made to eat the bug held between his fingers, but Lola leapt up and knocked it out of his hand, “hey!”

“Don’t even _eat_ that thing in front of me,” she answered, pulling a disgusted face.

Five gave her a slightly taunting, shit-eating grin as he bent over to pick up the fallen insect, ready to put it in his mouth again, “this time it’s even _worse_ since you made it dirty,” he teased her.

**_The Rings_ (Age 23) **

While he would never let Dolores go out on her own, Five sometimes went on walks by himself as she checked his math so he could clear his head. He usually tried to find something nice to bring back for her, even if it was, well, just himself. He’d taken to scanning the ground for anything unusual or shiny- he’d swear that Dolores was more like a crow than the actual bird, but he couldn’t love her any less for it. So far, he’d found a few spare coins, sharp pieces of broken glass (those he’d tossed) and the occasional bottle of liquor that had survived its tumble to the ground. He knew Dolores would know the actual count for how many things he’d brought back but Five didn’t keep track of numbers like that.

Now his eyes were glued to the ground as he tugged the wagon behind him, his feet scuffing up dust from the road. The air and weather had mostly stabilized now that they were years after the apocalypse and it was a rather comfortable walk save for the tedious landscape that surrounded them. Five was pulled from his thoughts as his eyes caught the sharp glint of something that _definitely_ wasn’t natural.

Dropping the handle to the wagon, he walked over and bent next to the spot he’d seen the sparkle, his hands sifting through small particles of rubble before something cold and metallic touched his palm. After rubbing the item off on his clothes, his eyes widened slightly at the sight of a golden ring sitting in the palm of his hand. The thought of marriage _had_ occasionally crossed his mind, especially now that he and Dolores were actually _together_ , but it had only been for fleeting moments in wishful what-might-have-beens. Now, though, the very symbol of marriage was sitting on the palm of his hand as if it had been waiting for him. If he’d been the type of person to believe in signs, he would have taken this for one.

Seeing as he wasn’t, he tucked the piece of metal into his pocket and sifted through the close-by area, pleased when his luck gave him a matching band. This, too, went into his pocket and he stood, heading back to the old wagon that waited patiently on the side of the road, humming one of Dolores’ songs quietly to himself.

As he picked up the handle, one of his hands slipped into his pocket as his fingers toyed with the rings. He resumed his journey back to the library and decided he’d wasted enough time lollygagging around.

_He’d ask her tonight._

(She couldn't yes fast enough and had barely let him finish the question.)

**_Dust Storm_ (Age 16) **

Lola had no idea how, but an entire car managed to remain intact after the blast that ended the world as they knew it. All that mattered, though, was that it had and was currently providing protection for the duo as they hid from one of the many dust storms that swept through the apocalyptic remains of the earth. There wasn’t much _weather_ in general, but sometimes strong winds would kick up clouds of choking dust from the roads and surrounding areas causing Lola and Five to duck for cover until it passed.

They were both sitting in the back seat of the car, with Five scribbling equations into the last few pages of her notebook and Lola picking carelessly at the damaged upholstery. The silence was only broken by the sharp, familiar hisses of tiny grains hitting the metal exterior of the car. At least, that was until the brunette spoke, “Five?”

“What?”

She was quiet, watching as his hands moved _un_ steadily across the page. He glanced up when she didn’t respond, “what is it?”

“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” Lola asked softly.

The boy scoffed, “what, and you have?”

“Have you eaten today?” she pressed.

“Have you?”

The girl frowned, “my wellbeing isn’t nearly as important as yours. Only _you_ can stop this, Five, and to do that you need to be healthy enough to survive it. Skipping sleep and food isn’t going to help you solve your equations.”

“And you’ve become an expert on health, have you?”

“No,” she admitted, “but I am observant,” she paused, watching him write again, “your hands,” she explained softly, pointing.

“What about them?” he asked testily.

“They’re shaking.”

“They’re not.”

Rolling her eyes, Lola reached over and gently picked up his wrist to hold his hand in the air, the soft vibrating of the pencil he was holding visible to both of them. He scoffed, “that’s just the shaking of the car due to the storm.”

“Right,” she answered, unconvinced, “look at my hand.”

She held her own up to compare it with his which, while it wasn’t _entirely_ steady, it was far better than the boy’s, “I think you should take a break,” she insisted.

“I’ll take a break when I’m done.”

“You always say that,” the brunette shot back, “yet you’re never done. All of your equations will be wrong if you wear yourself out like this, idiot. Then there will be more to fix and you’ll spend even more time in the apocalypse. You’re better off being a turtle than a hare, you know.”

“And what are you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, “what _does_ is that you’re exhausting yourself. You should rest.”

“Like I can do that.”

“Well, then at least _relax_ ,” Lola tried. She didn’t _really_ want to admit it, but she _was_ worried for the boy. He worked so hard all day, every day that he was going to wear himself out before he got anything accomplished. Everything hinged on his success and at the rate he was going, success would be more like failure.

“How am I supposed to relax with this storm going on?” Five asked, pointedly looking out the window to the noisy weather.

“You just _love_ being difficult, don’t you?”

“It’s one of my many talents.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it a talent,” the brunette grumbled, gently tugging the book out of his grasp and tossing it into the front seat.

“Hey!”

“You’re _relaxing_. Not working,” she held out her other hand, “give me your hand.”

“What?”

Lola gave him a faintly amused look, “I want to see if our energies converge.”

Five rolled his eyes but didn’t move, causing the girl to sigh and reach over him to take both of his hands in hers. After she felt them still slightly, she gave him a teasing wink, “you are vibrationally acceptable.”

“Gee, thanks. Check, please.”

“Ha, ha,” the brunette said, “now shush.”

She gently pulled on his hands so his body tilted forward until he was forced to lean against her, “stretch your legs that way,” she let go of one of his hands to point to the other end of the car before returning it to its original position.

Rolling his eyes, the boy followed her directions and placed his feet flat against the opposite door as he leaned against the girl’s side, glad that he was facing _away_ from her so she couldn’t see the warmth that had crept up his face. Twisting slightly to get into a more comfortable position, Lola let go of his left hand but kept hold of his right, wrapping her _own_ left arm around him to keep the boy from falling off the seat, “now I’m going to tell you a story.”

He sighed dramatically, “if you must.”

“This story is called The Timetaggers,” she started, “six thousand years ago, there was a village that lived on the edge of the vast Tigris river in the area that was once called Mesopotamia.”

“Well, at least you’ve got the historical facts right,” the boy grumbled quietly.

Lola chose to ignore the interruption, “the village was run by the high-ranking priests and priestesses who were well-respected by the lower class citizens. They were very wise and kept to a life of abstinence and purity to be better rulers for all of those who depended on them. One day, however, one of the priestesses became pregnant, which was unusual because she hadn’t been pregnant when the day first began. In a few short hours, she birthed a daughter and named her Ningal. Despite her unusual start to life and relative luck in coming into the world, Ningal’s fortune turned out to be very _un_ lucky. Any possible trouble that could have befallen her did, yet she always seemed to come out of these hardships relatively unscathed. She did her best to be worthy of her name and tried to be a great lady, often helping out the villagers where they needed her and in return, the villagers revered her as some sort of goddess- though one of misfortune. She was, at least, lucky that none of her bad luck transferred to anyone she helped.”

“Why would they revere a goddess of misfortune?” Five scoffed, “if this was _truly_ historically accurate, they would have probably tried her for being a witch.”

The brunette rolled her eyes and ignored him yet again, “one day, Ningal’s series of unfortunate events came to a head. The village was used to the rainy season which often brought much-needed relief to the plants and restored the soil. However, Ningal’s bad luck seemed to be influencing the weather and the rain continued to pour for far longer than it ever had before. The villagers had to escape to higher ground, many of them getting lost along the way. Still, it rained until the river rose far above it’s banks and rushed through the town, destroying everything in its path. The greatest sorrow of all for Ningal, however, was that she’d lost both her mother and the man she loved in the path of the water. There was hardly anyone left except for her and a handful of common people that had survived the flood.”

“What is this, Noah’s ark?” the boy asked sarcastically.

“That’s a different flood,” the girl said dismissively, “anyway, despite her misfortune, the remaining villagers elected Ningal to be their leader and she did her best to rule over them justly, through the trials and tribulations that battered their small civilization. Ningal was only sixteen when she had no one left, her bad luck wiping out everything she’d ever known. She went against her good nature and cursed the gods, the hardships, anything she could think of. She cried for what felt like a millennia over everything she’d tried so hard to save.

“The gods heard her cries and knew of the good she had brought to the world, so one day, the goddess of life met with her in a dream. She told Ningal that if she continued to do good in the world and protect the civilizations that would come and go, the gods would lift her curse and grant her with infinite reincarnations. Ningal, in exchange, said she would agree if the gods let her live with her soulmate, the man she loved. The goddess of life agreed and gave Ningal her promised gift. However, the gods are wily beings and have schedules of their own which is why one must always remember to be very specific when asking for something. The gods gave Ningal back her soulmate, but not in the way she thought they would. He was given the same gift of rebirth and she would have to search for each new century- but the catch was that he would have no memory of their past lives each time they met.”

“Well, that’s dumb. Couldn’t she just give her gift back, then?” Five suggested and Lola was surprised that his voice was growing… _sleepy_.

She smiled slightly, “no, you must never refuse a gift from the gods. Anyway, Ningal met up with her soulmate throughout the centuries, each time patiently reminding him of how much she loved him. Sometimes they were friends immediately. Sometimes they were enemies first. Sometimes he fell in love before she did, but each time ended the exact same way: Ningal always sacrificed herself to save the one she loved, for she could never let him die like that again. Of course, she didn’t _really_ die, but it started the cycle all over again. While she searched for her soulmate, she remembered her promise to the gods and did her best to bring good to the world. With each new era, she began a new life with a new name and, in an ironic twist of fate, each set of parents chose a name that meant ‘sorrows’ or ‘misfortune.’

“History often repeats itself and Ningal found patterns that helped her locate her soulmate. While they’d moved on from Mesopotamia, the man she loved had been the fifth in a family of seven. When he reincarnated, he usually had the same family set up in different parts of the world and quite often had variants of the same personality. Despite his upbringing being slightly different each time, they always managed to meet up somehow. However, it was in their last reincarnation that would spell doom for them both. This time, Ningal had chosen the name ‘Dolores,’ meaning-“

“Lady of sorrows, yeah, I know,” Five interrupted, “you’ve told me before.”

Warmth rose to Lola’s face at the thought of the boy remembering something like that- about _her_ , “right,” she said, using her free left hand to press her fingers against her warm cheeks, “anyway, number five-“

“But that’s me,” the boy interrupted again, sounding confused, “and you’re, well, you share her name-“

“It’s not you,” the brunette said quickly, “my uncle never gave a name to the boy character, he just called him ‘number five,’ since he had seven siblings, including himself. Uncle Ed also liked to make the main character share my name, since he thought that would make me happy, I suppose.”

“Oh.”

“ _Anyway_ , number five, as usual, became fed up with his family trying to hold him back from the great potential he had. It had been his initial reason for marrying Ningal thousands of years ago, though his actual escape changed every time. He ran away from home at the age of sixteen like he always did, and he was right- he had endless potential and made a name for himself in the world of business as a scientist and mathematician. He won several prizes for his work and was invited to speak at many prestigious events to share his findings. While he turned down most of the invitations, there was one sent from his original home city that he accepted and it was there that he met Dolores. She had been invited to speak as well because of her world-renowned writing and when the two met, they fell instantly in love. After a whirlwind romance and marriage, the two lived happily for many years until Dolores caught an unknown illness. Number five worked day and night to try and find a cure, driving himself to the edge of desperation to save the woman he believed was his soulmate.”

Lola paused, glancing down at the boy whose eyes were closed, though she suspected he wasn’t _quite_ asleep yet. She continued, “number five tried everything he could think of to save her, yet nothing seemed to work. He was by her side the entire time, down to what seemed to be the last amount of strength she had. He would never consider himself a godly man, but it was in the last hours that he prayed for the safety of his soulmate when all else failed. And, to his utmost surprise, there was a knock on the door by the time he finished his prayer. When he answered it, there was a woman on the other side who promised that she had the cure for his ailing wife in exchange for his… services. There would be a contract he had to sign in payment for the cure, but number five paid no mind to the details and immediately agreed. As the woman promised, Dolores was instantly cured.

“Number five should have asked more questions, though, because the woman- who was a goddess in her humanoid form- wanted nothing good for the couple and had exchanged the cure for number five’s soul: he had promised to be her loyal slave until the end of time, living in her dark underworld while Dolores lived above, with no more reincarnations or meet ups throughout time. The gods, after hearing about the contract, were enraged that their perfect pair had been split up. Number five had no say in his freedom any more and Dolores, no matter how hard she searched, could not find her beloved soulmate. Dolores, who _still_ had faith in her old gods-“ the girl paused as a different sound interrupted her story. When it came again, she glanced down, surprised. Five was _snoring._

She’d never let him live this down, though she was glad that he’d managed to fall asleep. Fighting back the urge to place a gentle kiss on the top of his head, she settled for gently squeezing the hand she was still holding, “we’ll finish the story some other time,” she whispered softly.

**_The Rain_ (Age 27) **

As they jumped farther into the future, the world slowly repaired itself. The fires had been the first to go, followed by the burning ash. The air had cleared up with each consecutive winter and the seasons had evened out the farther they got from 2019. It was in the 2030s that the earth started to look like the earth again, with the sun reappearing more frequently and the moon actually became visible through the thick layer of clouds. Lola took great delight in seeing the changes from year to year, finding the differences in one world and the next extremely fascinating. Five, on the other hand, couldn’t be bothered unless the _new_ version of the world turned out to be harder than the last. Of course, this was often true as the (pretty much) only drawback from skipping through winters was that food became extremely scarce.

It was in the brunette girl’s observations that she noticed a notable difference in the world: the air felt _heavy_ and slightly… _humid_. She was sure she’d experienced this type of weather before, though her memory of it escaped her for the moment. It was only when the sky had darkened to its early-apocalyptic color did she remember what _used_ to fall from the sky before it had become just ash.

“Fives!” she exclaimed excitedly at her realization, drawing the man out of his work.

“What?”

“It’s going to _rain_!” she pointed upwards at the dark clouds.

He gave her an unimpressed look and rolled his eyes, “it hasn’t rained in years, Dolly. It’s probably just gotten cloudy.”

She ignored the man’s negative attitude and began moving their important things to better-covered places so they wouldn’t be damaged by water. As she tucked the last of the items- her record player and box of albums Five had given to her on her birthday- she felt the first drop of wetness land on her cheek, “I was _right_!” she called over to him happily.

The brunette jumped up from where she’d been crouching on the ground and crossed quickly over to where Five was working diligently on his chalkboard. She grabbed his arm and gave it an excited tug, “c’mon, let’s celebrate! We’ve got some Bordeaux that we could break out-“

“No, Dolly,” Five said. Despite his stern tone, he gently removed her hand from his arm, “let me work.”

She pouted, “but you _never_ take breaks anymore. You’ll work better once you’ve rested.”

“It’s more prevalent now than ever for me to finish my work, Dol. I now need to get not only _me_ home but save you from this as well. I can’t do that if I take a break,” the man made an effort to explain it to her gently.

His argument proved to be in vain, though, because the large, wet droplets began to fall faster from the dark sky, leading him to throw up his hands in frustration and pull the dark-haired woman towards the makeshift roof-shelter they’d built for this very reason- though it had been more Lola’s doing than Five’s. The two of them sat crouched underneath the awning as they watched the rain pick up speed, wetting the packed, dry earth for the first time in almost two decades.

Lola made an effort to keep herself still as she sat next to her husband, but the delightful sound of rain hitting the earth made her want to get up and _dance_. She stood, half-bent in their short shelter.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Five asked, tilting his head slightly to look up at her.

“Out. To dance in the rain.”

“I don’t think so,” he said firmly, reaching up to grab her wrist and pull her back down, “you’ll catch your death of cold and I won’t have you dying on me and besides, you don’t have a dry change of clothes.”

“I’ll just wear yours,” Lola said with a shrug as she tried to tug her arm free.

“And what will I wear?”

She gave him a salacious grin, “do you _really_ want me to answer that?”

His eyes narrowed at the brunette woman, “you’ve become impossible ever since…”

“Ever since what?” Lola asked innocently.

“Ever since we started having sex,” Five huffed.

“I can’t help that I love you,” Lola pointed out with a gentler smile, “and I can’t help that I want to celebrate the rain. You could dance with me and then we could _both_ wear nothing.”

“Don’t even tempt me,” he warned, “I still won’t have you getting sick.”

“Well, I’ll be moving around a whole bunch and then when I’m done, I’ll dry off right away, how’s that?” the brunette asked.

“Fine,” the man grumbled, “but don’t blame me if you get sick.”

“I won’t!” she exclaimed cheerfully, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek in thanks. She stood again and headed over to where she’d stashed her record player.

“What are you doing _now_?”

“You need music to dance,” Lola said easily, flipping through the albums to find the one she was looking for. She considered herself very lucky that the people who’d lived in the mansion had such good taste in music.

After setting everything up and dropping the needle, she moved out into the pouring rain, allowing the droplets to hit her face and actually be _sort_ of clean for the first time in _years_. Nothing had ever felt so good- not even _being with_ Five. The music spiraled out from the record player and she sang along to the words she knew so well, “ _I'm hooked on a feeling, I'm high on believing, that you're in love with me, lips are sweet as candy, it's taste stays on my mind, girl, you got me thirsty, for another cup of wine_ …”

Five watched from the cover of their shelter as Dolores danced in the rain. A part of him longed to join her, to erase his worries and troubles and let the water wash them all away. A part of him wanted to forget about saving the world and just live out the rest of the days happily with his beloved wife. A larger part- the one that spoke sense and not romanticized feelings- kept him in his place. They had a world to save, a world with billions of people in it who didn’t deserve to perish how they had, a world that had once contained everything he’d ever known. A larger part told him that he’d be happier living _out_ of the apocalypse rather than in it, without the struggle for survival or the worry that Dolores would somehow be taken from him.

While the burden would crush a lesser man, he would happily shoulder it if it meant that, at least in this moment, Dolores could be free.

**_Sets of Three_ (Ages 22-58)**

Five decided that three was Dolores’ favorite number.

A part of him was disappointed that it wasn’t _five_ , but everything she did when it came to him seemed to be in sets of three. Three taps on his arm. Three squeezes when they held hands. Three kisses. Three jabs in his side when she thought he was being particularly annoying. Three light slaps on his arm when she thought he was being obnoxious. Whatever she did, it was always in sets of three.

He had no idea why she’d chosen that particular number except that from a mathematical perspective, it was one of the strongest numbers. That was why tripods were so sturdy and why a trio of three usually never broke. Those couldn’t possibly be Dolores’ reasons, though, seeing as she had very little idea about the complexity of numbers. And while he _could_ ask her, it could also just be that there was no particular reason to it, so he didn’t.

 _Had_ he asked her, though, he would have learned that each time she made a set of three, she was telling him I-love-you.

**_The First Time_ (Age 22)**

They decided that the mansion would be the best place to deepen their relationship. According to Lola, it was where everything had first began (though not their actual first meeting, of course.) It seemed poignant that they would chose such a place for the final stage in their relationship. Neither one, of course, had ever been with anyone so _physically_ and were understandably both nervous and excited. They had moved past the initial awkwardness of actually being in a _bedroom_ together and now Lola was enthusiastically kissing her _boyfriend_ (it was still almost surreal to think of him like that), earning amused chuckles from the man at her excitement.

The brunette moved her hands from where they had been gripping the front of Five’s jacket down to hold both of his hands in hers, though as soon as their skin touched, he jerked back with a sharp cry of surprise, “your hands!”

“What about them?” Lola asked, almost anxiously as she lifted them up to examine them.

Five reached forward and cupped them in his larger ones as he laughed softly, “they’re like little ice buckets.”

The woman turned pink and ducked her head, embarrassed, “sorry, they get like that when I’m nervous or scared or excited.”

“Hopefully it’s only the last one.”

“It’s the last one and the first one,” she admitted, “d’you think you can stand it?”

Five lowered their clasped hands and pulled her closer to him, making sure to catch her gaze, “for you?” he asked, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss on her forehead. He pulled back and rested his own forehead against hers as he whispered, “anything.”

**_Dancing Queen_ (Age 22) **

Neither Five nor Lola gave much thought towards their birthdays once they landed in the apocalypse. There were so many other important things to think about and gifts were impossible to get so it just made the day depressing on the whole and not worth celebrating. After Five’s initial apocalypse birthday, they’d come to an understanding that October first and August first would be treated like any normal day. Besides, with their time-jumps past winter, it wasn’t truly a whole year between birthdays.

Except, Five was determined not to let that happen this year. While he normally didn’t care about things like sentiment, it _was_ Dolores’ first birthday since they began this new part of their relationship and he at least wanted to make an effort. With the materials he already had on hand, this would pretty much be a piece of cake (that they didn’t have).

One of Dolores’ favorite apocalypse past times besides playing games was to sing in an effort to fill up the empty space. With this in mind, Five had returned to the mansion at the edge of town and hunted around for a record player. While he hadn’t been _certain_ there would be one, he’d been fairly confident and his results had proven fruitful. It had only taken some rudimentary repairs to get the record player back in order and he’d had his pick from the intact records that remained on the shelf.

On the day of the woman’s birthday, he’d treated it like any other without giving away his plans. As the sun began to set, though, he tapped her on the shoulder, “happy birthday.”

Dolores turned and gave him a confused look, “but we don’t celebrate birthdays.”

“I’m celebrating this one.”

“But why?”

The man gave an exasperated sigh, “because this is the first holiday we’re celebrating _together_. I thought you liked things like that?”

“Well, I _do_ ,” the brunette agreed with a frown, “but you don’t and I know not to expect it, so-“

“So I’m only doing it for this year, don’t get used to it,” he interrupted her, “now, close your eyes. It’s not like I could wrap this thing.”

After she’d followed his directions, Five went to the spot where he’d hidden the gift and stood with it in his hands. _God, he felt so stupid. Was this the right thing to do? Was this how… someone in his position was supposed to act?_ In everything that his father had taught him, Reginald Hargreeves hadn’t deigned to share what one was supposed to do in social settings- not that the apocalypse could necessarily be called a _social setting_.

Shaking his head, the man straightened and ignored the niggling doubt in his head as he approached the woman. Uncertain whether he should place it in his hands or not, he cleared his throat awkwardly, “uh, you can open your eyes now.”

Dolores did as she was told and then they widened at the object in his hands, “where on _earth_ did you find that?” she asked breathlessly, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“In that mansion outside the city limits,” Five answered, “I, uh, thought you might like it, seeing as how you’re always singing.”

“I _love_ it,” she exclaimed happily, grabbing it from his hands to scan it over with her own eyes, “I can’t believe you found it fully intact!”

“Well, I had to do some repairs,” he said uncertainly. Now that his hands weren’t occupied, he didn’t know what to do with them so he stuck them in his pockets, “um, there’s records, too. I dunno if you’ll know anything, but-“

Dolores carefully put the gift down and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder, “thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Finally relaxing, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and wrapped them around her waist to hug her tightly, “’course, Dolly. I can’t be everything I need to be in this setting but I _am_ very resourceful,” he murmured into her hair almost apologetically.

She hugged him tighter, “this is the best gift _anyone_ could have gotten me, apocalypse or no apocalypse.”

As they pulled apart, he looked down at the dark-haired woman with a soft expression, “d’you wanna pick out a song?”

“I can _pick_?” she gasped.

“’Course you can. You probably know these albums better than I do even if you’ve never heard of the band.”

After giving the man an ecstatic smile, she hurried over to where the box he’d put the records in sat patiently. Taking a minute to flip through them, she returned with her choice: a dark-colored cover with a group of four and a label of _Arrival_ by the band _ABBA_.

“Do you have a specific song you want, Dolly?” Five asked.

“Yeah, the second one. _Dancing Queen. I_ think it’s one of their best songs next to _Mama Mia_ ,” Dolores answered with an excited bounce.

Amused at her enthusiasm, the dark-haired man gave her a fond smile before placing the record platter. After setting the needle down, the disc was scratchy for a few seconds before the familiar strains of the song began. Biting her lip uncertainly, the brunette looked up into the face of the man she loved, “Five?”

“Yeah?”

“Would- would you dance with me?” she asked hesitantly, fully expecting him to say _no_.

He wavered uncertainly before shaking himself. _This was_ Dolores _, he’d made this much effort for her birthday, he loved her, and there was no reason for him to say no_ , “sure, but don’t get used to it,” he answered with a grin, watching, pleased, as her eyes widened with happy surprise. Grabbing his hands, she pulled him towards the center of the broken library that they called their home and set their hands in the familiar dance position. As they began to move with the song, her blue eyes met his green ones as she looked contentedly up at him and said, “ _this_ will be a treasured memory.”

The soft notes of music floated upwards towards the sun as it set on the apocalyptic scene, the two survivors turning in a slow circle in the midst of a wasteland of time.

_You can dance_

_You can jive_

_Having the time of your life_

_Ooh, see that girl_

_Watch that scene_

_Digging the dancing queen_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!! 
> 
> I've gotten a lot of writing for this story done and only have one more chapter left, so I thought I'd do several updates this week to wrap it up. This will be our last apocalypse chapter before we move to The Commission, which I'm both happy and very nervous about. I only know TUA through the show, so I've made up a lot of what happens during those years and IDK if they're true to canon. The Handler is also a super hard character to write and I'm not sure if I've gotten her personality correct, so there's that. 
> 
> To put it into perspective, if I was 100% confident on the chapters I've already posted, I'm -100% confident on the upcoming chapters. I even deleted some of the plot because I couldn't convince myself it would work, so I apologize in advance if it's not up to my usual standards. 
> 
> Now, as for this chapter: there are several references in here that I made to TV shows and I wonder if anyone will get them. They're kind of obscure but they're my favorite next to TUA so I hope some people do! 
> 
> TBH I feel like the ending is kind of cringe-y but I was really inspired by the tumblr HCs about Five's apocalypse stay and I just... couldn't trash it like I did some of the other scenes. 
> 
> Anyway, I kind of feel like my writing's going down hill so I'm going to try and wrap this first part up by the end of the week so expect a few updates from me. I'm hoping I can recover in S1.


	24. Welcome to The Commission

Thirty years seemed like both a millennia and no time at all. The world after the apocalypse had begun to heal, small plants pushing their way up through cracks in the pavement. The sky was more blue now than not and rain fell at an almost predictable rate. There was still little to eat besides bugs and the occasional (sometimes spoiled) canned food they found but after so many years of empty stomachs, it was almost unnatural to feel anywhere close to full. Dolores and Five had made do with what the world provided for them and managed to stake out a content- they weren’t quite happy, but they understood their allotment- life.

The two survivors themselves had changed quite a bit from when they first met. They both sported white hair now, their brown locks turning soft and snowy around the same time. The constant years of exposure to the elements (and later, the sun) left them with weathered faces and a few more wrinkles than what an average fifty-ish-year-old would have. The one thing that hadn’t changed with time, however, was that they were both still very much in love with each other (Dolores liked to tease her husband that it was because she was the only woman left.)

Over the years, Five’s work on the equations to get home had slowed so that he could enjoy spending time with his wife (something he was _still_ getting used to calling her), though he never stopped worrying about his family’s future- or, well, their past. There wasn’t much one could do for entertainment in the apocalypse but Dolores, ever the creative one, found ways to keep themselves amused- in activities both _in_ side and _out_ side the bedroom. They’d played her ‘what’s the most complicated word you know’ game several hundred times (Dolores claimed that number was six hundred twenty-three.) They played card games with her old, worn-out deck that was barely surviving their later apocalypse years. She tried to invent new magic tricks, though most of them failed. In her most creative efforts, Dolores figured out how they could play both checkers and chess though Five had to teach her how to actually play the game.

Arguments were still par for the course as was the case in most marriages, but none of them were extremely heated or had no answer. Sometimes they argued just for the sake of entertainment, sometimes Dolores was fed up with Five’s so-called ‘recklessness’ (he thought he was _very_ cautious, thank you very much.) Her favorite- well, not _argument,_ but thing to tease him about was his age. Since Five _was_ technically older than her, she’d given him a hard time all through puberty, laughing especially when his voice cracked. And then, even when they were only in their thirties, she’d called him ‘old man’ countless times (truthfully, it was one thousand one hundred and forty three times) and she still called him that even _now_ , in their old age.

The broken library where they first staked out their claim all those years ago was still the place they called ‘home’ and returned to each day and time they jumped through the seasons. The space had become cluttered with belongings that they’d thought were useful, mostly books on time travel. Dolores kept the white violin she’d found in her solo adventures, _The Book Thief_ and her deck of cards. Everything else was shared between the two of them, though the old school lunchbox with his family’s faces on it that Dolores had given him was still Five’s most important possession.

They sat in the hollow of the still-standing stone, the woman sitting on the floor of their home with her back resting against one of the pillars and Five sitting on an upturned crate, opening a bottle of wine for them to share, “do you remember that little mansion just outside the city limits where we, uh,” he trailed off, remembering his failed attempt at his first kiss.

A smile quirked at the woman’s lips, “where you couldn’t kiss me?”

He chuckled slightly, still embarrassed about the memory, “yeah,” he cleared his throat, “yeah, well, it turns out their wine cellar was untouched. Picked up a few cases of your favorite Bordeaux.”

Lola rolled her eyes, “you drink every day, Fives.”

“Ah, that’s an exaggeration. I don’t drink that much,” he finished opening the bottle and took the first sip, “you know, I work hard, all day, every day.”

“Okay, Five,” the woman agreed dryly, making the man’s eyes widen in indignation.

“I- why would you say that?”

Lola laughed, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips that were hidden behind his whiskers. She made to pull away, but the man stopped her gently and returned the gesture in a much longer fashion, causing her to close her eyes contentedly.

\--

Later, after they’d finished the bottle of Bordeaux, Lola had shifted her position so she could lean comfortably against Five’s leg as he continued to work on his equations, the couple sitting in a relaxed silence that only existed between two people who’d known each other for so many years. Their solitude, however, was broken by the appearance of a _very_ unexpected visitor. At the feeling of an unfamiliar presence, Five’s head shot up from where he was working and landed on a woman dressed in black who was clutching a brief case several yards away.

Despite his age, he moved quickly to his feet and reached for the gun lying nearby as Lola quickly followed his path upwards. As he lined the barrel up with the strange woman’s head, his wife stepped up behind him and, in an odd gesture, wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, though it wasn’t in one of her backwards hugs. Instead, she placed her right hand on the left side of his chest and placed her other hand on top of it. She then rested her chin on the shoulder that wasn’t holding the rifle, her blue eyes peering at the woman, half-curious, half-wary.

“Who the hell are you?” Five called to the stranger.

“I’m here to help,” the woman answered plainly, cautiously stepping towards the pair.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet through your head right now!” he yelled, Dolores’ tense form against his back warning him to be watchful of the visitor.

“Because,” the white-haired woman said, entering their library, “if you did,” she sat on one of the larger pieces of rubble, “you wouldn’t hear the offer I’m about to make you,” she removed her sunglasses, “which would be rather tragic given your... current circumstances.”

Five relaxed his stance with the gun though Lola continued to eye the woman mistrustfully as she continued to explain, “I work for an organization called The Commission. We are tasked with the preservation of time continuum through manipulation and removals.”

The man glanced towards his wife whose expression was doubtful before he turned back to their… _guest_ , “I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes, people… make choices that alter time,” casually, she removed a smoking pipe from its case and lit it, “free will, don’t get me started. When that happens, we dispatch our agents to… eliminate the threat.”

Immediately, Five resumed his protective stance over the woman as he aimed the gun at the stranger, Dolores falling back into her original position of placing her hands over the left side of his chest. The woman laughed, “no, no, no, you misunderstand me. You’re not a target. You’re a recruit. I’ve come to offer you a job, Number Five,” at her words, the man relaxed again, though Dolores did not, “we’ve had our eye on you- I’m sorry, _both_ of you for quite some time. We think you both have a lot of potential. Your survival skills have made you quite the celebrities back at headquarters. That, and your ability to jump through time.”

“You’re saying that we… we could actually leave here?” it seemed too good to be true _(it was.),_ “go back?”

“In return for five years of service from each of you. Once your contract is done, you can retire to a time and place of your choosing with a pension plan to boot,” she answered.

“If you can alter time…” Five said slowly, “why not just stop all of this from ever happening?”

“That’s quite impossible, I’m afraid. You see, all of this… it was supposed to happen.”

“That’s insane!” Five protested, “the end of everything?”

“Not everything,” she corrected him, “just the end of… something.”

Finally, Lola had had enough and she grabbed her husband’s arm, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

The man turned to her, confused, “what’s there to talk about? You heard her, we can leave this place-“

“And if you want to stay married, you’ll talk to me,” she cut across him fiercely.

 _That_ got him into action and he glanced at their visitor, “can you give us a moment?”

“But of course,” she said with an understanding smile.

Lola pulled the man away to where they’d been sitting earlier, feeling the woman’s eyes on them, “I don’t trust her,” she said quietly.

Five scoffed, “well, aren’t you a genius. Only a goldfish would be smart enough to trust her, Dolly. Is that all?”

The woman swallowed before saying, “you haven’t even asked what the job _is._ ”

“So what? If it gets us out of here-“

“It’s not worth losing your soul over, Fives,” she told him angrily, “I’d rather live the rest of our days in this hellscape than loose _you_ for comfortable living.”

Five’s expression softened at her discomfort, “what’s the matter, Dol? Something’s bothering you.”

“Oh, now _you’re_ the genius,” she sneered and then added more normally, “I don’t like this. I don’t like _her_. It’s- it’s-“ she struggled to explain _why_ she felt so much foreboding when looking at the woman, reviewing their conversation in her head as Five waited patiently for her to explain.

 _In return for five years of service from each of you. Once your contract is done_. _Contract._ Why was that word sticking out to her?

 _Then, one day, a woman from an important organization came to him, promising that he would get world-renowned fame if he agreed to her contract._ […] _Had he asked the woman what the contract entailed, he might have thought twice about agreeing to it, but he hadn’t and now this was the path his life was taking him._

There it was. Her uncle’s long-forgotten stories about how a boy, number five in his family, ran away to improve himself only to get caught up in something… she swallowed again, this time nervously as she remembered the ending to _The Soul Machine_. She looked up at the man she loved, the only person in the entire world she couldn’t afford to lose and felt a heavy weight in her chest that she’d never noticed before.

Everything made sense now.

Maybe she was thinking too much into it, but _all_ of her uncle’s stories had the same framework, the same start, middle, and end. Number five running away. A woman from an organization finding him and making him sign a contract. Him meeting Dolores. And finally, Dolores sacrificing herself for her… soulmate.

There was no other way to describe their love, not if her uncle’s stories where more than… _stories_. How he’d known about them, she had no idea, but something told her they were based on real-life events. If this _were_ the case, did she, _this_ version of Dolores, let them play out how they were supposed to, ending in her (un)timely death somewhere along the way? Or did she try to convince _her_ Number Five not to join The Commission and live their days out in the apocalypse? What about saving the world, especially if The Commission’s goal was for it to end?

Five watched his wife’s face carefully as she fell silent, practically seeing the gears turning in her head as she pieced something together. A riddle. She’d always loved riddles, especially the ones they’d found in puzzle books that had survived. This one didn’t look like fun to solve, though, due to the drawn, slightly haunted look on her face. He gently picked up her hand, startling her out of her thoughts, “hey,” he said softly, “everything will work out, alright? It always has for us.”

His heart ached in his chest at the… _grief_ in her eyes, though from what, he wasn’t sure. He _hated_ seeing her in any sort of pain and was always quick to try and make it go away, though this time something told him he couldn’t do anything about it. She’d been his rock through the entire apocalypse, even before he realized it. She was his anchor, the person keeping him from going insane and he knew he was hers. It was more than just his duty as a husband to give her comfort when she needed it, though he didn’t know how to help her.

“Tell me what to do,” he said quietly, “I don’t have to take this contract, I can work harder on my equations to get us out of here, I can shoot her, if you’d like.”

“Stop,” Lola’s voice cracked as she said the word, “just, _please_ stop. I-“ she swallowed against the lump in her throat, “we should take the contract,” she whispered, closing her eyes briefly.

“Are you sure?” Five asked, grasping her hands tightly, “we can just say no.”

She shook her head, “we need to say yes if we want to get out of here.”

If this were any other situation, he would have teased her for not having faith in his equations. As it was, he gave her a concerned look but nodded solemnly in agreement. Grasping his hand tightly in hers, the two made their way back to the white-haired woman, who smiled broadly, “have you decided, then?” she asked and continued without waiting for an answer, sticking out her hand, “how wonderful!”

Before Five shook it, he gave the woman a firm look, “on one condition. We can get _properly_ married.”

They disappeared in a flash of blue.

\--

The Commission much resembled a hospital. A noisy, busy hospital, but the similar-styled, long, repetitive hallways had a very… _sterile_ feel that reminded Lola of medical buildings. She would’ve compared the look to a hotel due to the added grandeur, but the too-clean feeling insisted _hospital_ more than _hotel_.

The woman- who’d introduced herself as The Handler- had led the pair first to a public bath where they could get the smell of _apocalypse_ off and stop attracting so much attention. Lola had shifted nervously the whole walk there due to the discomfort of so many people after so long of being around only one other person. Five, of course, had brushed it off as if he wasn’t affected by the new surroundings but she knew him far too well to fall for his poker face. He was just as uncomfortable as she was, and perhaps more so because the white-haired woman _wouldn’t stop touching him_ and it was driving Lola crazy. It took all of her self-control not to lash out at the woman who’d most likely be responsible for her death.

There was that fact, too. She was still reeling from the revelation and let The Handler chatter on about the ‘good work’ The Commission did by _killing_ people who messed with the timeline. _She was going to die._ It was an obvious fact, really. Everyone died. It was just _how_ she died that had her so shaken- young, in a selfless act of love. She would, of course, willingly sacrifice herself to save the man she loved, but to cut their time together so short (well, maybe not _short_ , but so abruptly) was a hard thing to swallow. (And could she really consider herself 'young' anymore?) 

“Well, here we are!” the woman exclaimed cheerfully, “get yourselves cleaned up and we’ll sort everything out after, shall we?” she didn’t wait for an answer before she grasped Five’s arm and pulled him in the direction of the men’s.

The man looked over his shoulder to where his wife paused outside of the woman’s as she opened her mouth to object, not wanting to be parted from him in such a strange, untrustworthy place. He gave the slightest shake of his head and a reassuring look that said _just play along, for now_. Lola closed her mouth and watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, her own uncertainty (and fear) leaving her hesitant at the door of her own.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” The Handler had reappeared next to her, sounding far less enthusiastic, “we haven’t got all day.”

She clenched her teeth together to stop herself from snapping out a reply and instead gave the woman a wide, fake smile before she pushed open the bathroom door. As she let the shower water pour over her (she tried not to be _too_ grateful for anything that came from this place, but it was hard when she hadn’t had a proper shower in _years_ ), she thought about their next move.

If- when- she was going to die, she wasn’t going to go down without doing something worthwhile first. Up until now, it had been Five’s job to figure out how to stop the apocalypse since he’d been the one with the math skills. Now they had more than that. They had resources, there were people, this was an organization that _dealt_ with time. It _her_ turn to work on their problem. It was her riddle to solve and she was gathering the puzzle pieces to do so.

They’d brought the eyeball with them seeing as it could fit in Five’s pocket, but she’d left everything behind. It had been a hard goodbye to let her book go, but she was a woman now, not a scared little girl that needed the comfort of something familiar- not _inanimate_ comfort, anyway.

She had a feeling that she knew what kind of job The Handler would require of Five and it made her heart sink in dread. Her uncle had never sugar-coated the effect that years of murder had on number five’s soul and now it would happen to _her_ Number Five. She didn’t know what The Handler had planned for _her_ , but the woman was already showing her characteristic signs of dislike and jealousy that her uncle had always described about the ‘woman from the organization.’

Lola finally forced herself out of the steaming hot water and changed into the Commission-issued blue dress. When she finally exited the bathroom, Five was waiting with The Handler, purposely standing a few feet farther away from her than strictly necessary. A surprised, delighted smile crossed Lola’s face as she took in his new appearance, “you’ve shaved!” she exclaimed as she joined them.

Almost against his will, Five allowed his own smile to form, “I figured it was time and I _still_ didn’t take as long as you did.”

“Shut up,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

As The Handler showed them around The Commission, Lola’s hand found Five’s, the woman unable to resist the comfort of physical touch underneath the pressure of so many eyes. She’d never liked being up at the front of the classroom and this was almost a thousand times worse. The employees were curious about the unfamiliar faces but none of them were quite brave enough to approach them with the white-haired woman power-walking the pair through the building. Even when they stopped at notable places, all they received were curious glances before the workers hurriedly moved on.

On what seemed like their hours-long tour, there were three important stops according to Lola: one, case management.

They stopped at the plain door, the only giveaway that it held a room of any importance was the plaque in the center that labeled the room _case management._

“Now, Lola, dear,” The Handler started, her voice saccharine-sweet. 

“It’s Dolores,” the woman cut her off.

“Excuse me?”

“My name. It’s Dolores.”

Five shot his wife a surprised look, “are you sure?”

 _Dolores_ gave a firm nod, “Lola was a girl of the past, who was stuck in the apocalypse. Dolores is me, who I am now.”

“You can call yourself whatever you’d like,” the white-haired woman started before seeming to realize that it _wasn’t_ just the two of them and she tried again, her voice syrupy, “now, _Dolores_ , dear, I’ve heard so much about how adept you are with a pen. We’d like to put those wonderful skills to good use in case management where you’ll get to solve riddles to your heart’s content. The Head Case Manager will help get you settled,” her hand reached out and grasped Five’s arm, “come now, Five, let’s leave her to it while we show you the rest of the building.”

The man resisted, “I really think Dolores should come with us. If I’m not going to be around her all the time, I don’t want her getting lost.”

“Well, she can just ask for directions. All of our employees would be happy to help.”

Having no other argument, Five shot the woman an apologetic look but Dolores was not as easily stopped. Instead, she grasped his hand more tightly and wrapped an arm around his, “it’s not just getting lost,” she explained, adding vulnerability to her voice, “I just don’t know how I’ll cope not seeing him all the time since he’s been the _only_ one I’ve seen for years,” she explained, widening her eyes in faux-fear. _If she could fly under the radar because The Handler thought she was a coward, then all the better,_ “I really, really don’t want to be parted from him before I have to.”

The white-haired woman gave her a tight-lipped smile, “then by all means. We can return here once we’re done.”

Stop two: the Infinite Switchboard.

Later on, the group stopped next to a similarly-styled door, this time the only difference being the plaque that read: _Infinite Switchboard._

“Now, this is perhaps the most important part of everything that The Commission does. You have already seen our briefcase room where agents can travel to their field locations, and the case management room where we communicate with them from our headquarters. Here is where everything begins: the Infinite Switchboard,” The Handler explained.

“The Infinite Switchboard?” Dolores repeated, “what does that do? I’m guessing it’s not for making a lot of phone calls.”

“You would be correct,” the woman agreed with forced-politeness, “it is an alert system that lets us know when someone… makes the wrong choice and changes the timeline. We can see any and all events from the past, present and future.”

“Any and all?” Dolores echoed, “so everything from the Dinosaurs to, say, the end of the world?”

“Precisely. An employee educated in its usage would be able to see any event they wish, though personal viewing is strictly prohibited. It takes many years for one to be proficient in its usage which is why we have decided an easier path for you, dear,” The Handler added, perhaps anticipating the woman’s next question of relocation.

“Of course,” Dolores agreed, “completely understandable.”

As they walked away, she couldn’t help but glance back at the room and jumped slightly as Five squeezed her hand, “absolutely not,” he murmured, “I know what you’re thinking and I _won’t_ risk that. We don’t know her plays yet and I can’t put you in danger until we do, and even then-“

“You wouldn’t,” she said with a sigh, “but just imagine, we could figure everything out here and now, without needing our leads-“

“No,” the man said firmly, “put it out of your head. We’ll find another way.”

Stop three: the cafeteria.

Their final stop on the tour was the cafeteria which was currently bustling with employees taking a break for whatever meal it currently was. After so long spent without clocks or a way to decently tell the time, Dolores could only say for certain whether it was day or night.

“Our cafeteria hosts a wide range of food from all times and places. For lunch, you could get a nineteen-sixties Jell-o salad and for dinner, a twenty-first century American hamburger. Our most impressive highlight, however, is our coffee bar,” they paused next to the said feature, “we host coffees from all over the world with as many add-ins as you can imagine, a necessary part of the on-the-go employee,” The Handler said.

“May I?” Five asked, gesturing to the long bar.

“Please,” the woman said, sounding satisfied. 

As the man pondered what kind of coffee to pour himself, Dolores couldn’t help but smirk as a long-forgotten joke sparked at the sight, “I know what you should get,” she told him quietly, leaning against him as she looked at the choices.

He turned to her, a faintly amused smile on his face as he caught the underlying laughter in her tone, “oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, unable to hold back a giggle that slipped out, “black, like your soul.”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, “and what should you get? Super sweet with rainbow sprinkles on top?”

Unable to stop herself, she pressed a quick kiss to the man’s cheek, “you’re too kind,” she said teasingly, “but I think you might actually be right. Black coffee is just… too bitter.”

“Like me, right?” the man asked sarcastically.

“Yes, but luckily you’ve got a little cream to sweeten you out.”

“Whatever,” he huffed, trying to ignore the light pink that rose to his face at her gentle teasing. He moved away quickly before he could get _too_ flustered- something that only she could do to him, even after all this time- and poured himself a to-go cup of the dark, hot liquid.

Hiding her own grin, Dolores busied herself by making a concoction of her own. And by _concoction,_ she meant _concoction_. While she’d never liked coffee by itself as a girl, her uncle would sometimes bring home the sweeter version of some Starbucks drink for her when he and her dad had one of their ‘store meetings.’ While they’d never had caffeine because her mom would have probably killed her uncle, she’d enjoyed the sweet warmth of the drink and was eager to replicate it here. Besides, there were just _so many_ choices and after years of having _none_ , she just couldn’t pick _one_.

In the end, the finished product had ten packets of sugar, two scoops of cocoa powder, steamed milk with two shots of espresso, three pumps of caramel syrup and one of vanilla. Five gave her an amused glance, “are you sure you have enough sugar in there?”

“Now I do, yes.”

As she raised the hot drink to her lips, The Handler reached out a hand grasped her wrist causing the woman to shiver slightly, “are you sure you should be drinking that, dear? It can’t possibly be good for your heart.”

Dolores gave the woman an even look, “I’m fifty-three, not dead. I can handle it.” _Okay, maybe playing a fearful old woman was going to be a lot harder than she thought._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... to answer everyone from the previous chapter, I just feel like I'm in a sort of... slump. I don't know, but it's happened before, though not usually for this long. It's just a period where I doubt my writing is any good and second guess myself on the entire storyline and wonder if it's even good or believable. (Hence my deletion of large sections of this and the next chapter's plot.) It's just this weird mental block that I get in my head and, like I said, it's usually only for a short period of time. IDK what's up with me rn, but it could just be because this work has taken so long for me to finish? Or maybe because writing for old people isn't my strong suit so I'm even less confident? 
> 
> That's why I think it'll go away when I start writing for S1 since I'll be back on familiar ground, so please just bear with me and this weird self-doubt for a few more chapters.


	25. Dolores Hargreeves, The Magician

If the apocalypse was bad, The Commission was worse.

At least at the end of the world, it had just been Dolores and Five, the two lone survivors of a once vastly-populated earth. She’d been able to see him every day, have him be the last thing she saw at night and the first thing she saw in the morning. She’d known he was as safe as one could get in the apocalypse. She’d spent every waking minute with him which, while they didn’t _always_ get along, was still definitely nothing to complain about.

Now, though, she rarely saw him. He’d been taken in as a field agent as she’d suspected and had spent many months training with other Commission workers before being sent out to the field. There, he’d made a name for himself as she’d known he would and had become what was arguably The Commission’s most valuable asset. On the one hand, this was good because it was far less likely that the organization would send them _back_ to the apocalypse and interrupt their further attempts to return to a pre-apocalyptic earth. On the other, this was terrible because she was now on her own more often than not and when she _did_ finally see her husband, he was distant and preoccupied.

Dolores knew from her uncle’s stories the effect the missions had on the man but no matter how she worded her question about his wellbeing, he brushed her off. Sometimes he’d gently squeeze her hand and reassure her he was okay. Sometimes he would place a distracted kiss on the top of her head in answer, but he’d never say what he was truly feeling. Even when she tried to talk to him about _other_ things, like what happened at her end of the job, he seemed to only listen with half an ear or zone out completely so that she was better off talking to a brick wall. Even worse, she’d noticed that Five was now failing to meet her eyes more often than not. This was, of course, only when she _could_ see him and The Handler seemed hellbent on keeping them separated.

Five Hargreeves was- _is_ \- incredible. There was no denying this fact and it was more than Dolores saying that just because he was her husband. The man seemed to have the ability to adapt to any place- and time- with chameleon-like ease, no matter how foreign or uncomfortable the setting was. It was how he’d adapted to the apocalypse so well after the first few days and had changed again when they’d signed the contract. In the beginning, he hadn’t been gone as much and she’d been able to monitor his adaptation more closely. As he’d passed training, though, they’d seen each other less and less so that, by the time they’d been there a year, he was hardly a person she recognized.

That never stopped her from worrying incessantly whenever he was gone, though, or worrying about his wellbeing whenever they were together. _Someone_ had to, or he’d work himself into an early grave and she was the only one he could fully rely on. Even when he told her nothing of what he was going through, Dolores did her best to shoulder as much of his burden as she could so that he could rest easier, though that, in itself, was a whole other problem entirely.

She’d known since the first day that stopping the apocalypse would now fall to _her_ , at least until she got _her_ Five back (this silent, distant shell of a person _wasn’t_ him) and she’d do whatever it took to solve the riddle.

\--

The line for Taco Tuesday was quite long, but luckily Dolores had worked methodically through her cases so that she didn’t need to worry about returning to work until later in the afternoon. She walked slowly towards the queue, noting how Dot- in her usual routine- was also making her way towards the line. The two women arrived at the same time, Dolores pausing and gesturing for her to step in front, “go ahead, you got here first.”

“No, really, I couldn’t,” the woman argued kindly, “you arrived before me.”

“Please, I don’t mind an extra person in front,” Dolores insisted, “I’ve seen how much you like Taco Tuesday.”

The dark-haired employee gave her a beaming smile, “thank you so much,” she gushed, stepping in front of the older woman, “I really do love Taco Tuesday, you know. There are so many toppings to chose from! I’ve been working my way down the list for years and I _still_ haven’t had everything that’s offered. My favorite so far is the Pico de Gallo…” she continued to ramble happily about everything she’d tried so far as Dolores made an effort to listen attentively.

As she did, she took out her coin purse and pulled out a quarter. The Commission accepted all types of currency from different times and places, but Dolores preferred twenty-first century Canadian money as a reminder of where she’d come from. She rolled the cent piece between her fingers, feeling the smooth edge of the coin. Hand magic had never been her strong suit which is why she’d stuck with her card tricks but in this instance, it was more conspicuous.

She continued to listen to Dot as the woman moved on from Taco toppings to the sides and she tried a few practice flicks of her wrist to vanish the coin from her hand, rolling the metal disk between her fingers to gain confidence.

The glint of the surface caught the other woman’s eye and they widened, “oh, good thinking! I should probably count out my money beforehand. It’s always so much pressure to do it up at the stand, don’t you think? All those people just waiting on you to finish counting your coins. Truthfully, I prefer the French Franc to any other coinage. Old money just has such a nice _feel_ to it, you know? I really think-“ she trailed off as the coin in the white-haired woman’s hands vanished, “how-“ she gasped, “it’s gone! You made it disappear! You’re- you’re _Five Hargreeves’_ wife, right?” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “ _are you superpowered, too?_ ”

Dolores grinned, expecting the question, “no, I’m completely ordinary. What I do is called slight of hand, or prestidigitation if you’re a pompous asshole. I use my own skills to make things disappear and reappear.”

“Prestidigitation? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that,” Dot seemed genuinely curious, “can you make my coin disappear?”

“Sure,” she said with a shrug, taking the Franc from her. She practiced the motion again, causing the same reaction from the dark-haired woman.

“Can you do it again?”

Dolores repeated the gesture several more times as the line moved forward, Dot’s enthusiasm and surprise as genuine as the first time she’d done the trick, “I can also do card tricks, too,” Dolores told her.

“Card tricks?”

“Yeah, I can do things like guess your card or find it in the deck without knowing where it is. It’s a lot easier to show than explain but I’ve been into this sort of magic since I was a little girl. If I have props I can do other things but card tricks are my area of expertise.”

“Could- could I see them some time?”

“Of course,” Dolores said with a smile, “I just need a deck of cards which are back in my room. Just let me know when you want me to show you.”

The other woman beamed happily, “I’m going to tell everyone that Dolores Hargreeves is a magician!”

\--

After Five checked his briefcase in to the Briefcase Room, he sighed as he walked towards The Handler’s office for debrief. What he really needed was a hot cup of coffee and a warm shower. It seemed like that was all he ran on these days was the dark, bitter liquid. It kept the sleep at bay and the… side effects of his job farther from his mind. The lack of sleep helped to make his days longer and allowed for more time to work on his equations. As for the shower, he knew that no amount of hot water could scrub off the blood that now stained his soul. He was practically swimming in an endless river of red that not even the sight of his wife could vanish completely.

 _Dolores_. She deserved so much better than him, than what he had to offer. What woman in their right mind would chose an apocalypse over a normal life? A killer as opposed to a normal man? Someone who only saw her once a fortnight and gave her lukewarm support at best versus a dedicated and loyal husband? He could barely look her in the eye anymore, partly in fear of what he would see when she looked at him and partly for her own good, for _he_ feared he could infect her. The Commission had changed him and not for the better. There were even some days that the voice in his head didn’t sound like his at all and those were the ones where he avoided his wife the most.

He knocked on the door, opening it after admittance. He sat in his normal chair across from the white-haired woman, surround by various (illegal) historical artefacts. There was nothing unusual about this debrief, the target was secured and hit, everything had gone as planned. The Handler had reached across the expanse of wood several times to rest her hand on his arm or grasp his hand in hers, the final time making him move it to his lap. It was only as they were wrapping things up did anything out of the ordinary happen.

“Now,” the woman said, “there is a matter of… importance that I’d like to discuss with you.”

“I’m all ears,” he responded evenly, uncertain of what play she was going to make.

“It… has to do with your wife.”

Five made a conscious effort not to tense, though his hands grasping the arm rests clenched tightly, an action that did not go unnoticed, “what about her?”

“She has certainly been making some ripples with our employees. I have to admit, I never thought she had it in her. There is talk that she is… _superpowered_ -“

“I can assure you that she is not,” the man interrupted firmly, “I’ve spent more than thirty years with her and I would _know_ if she were hiding something like that from me-“ _shut up, idiot_ , he thought as he snapped his mouth shut. He _never_ rambled, and if he showed too much fear that would put him at a disadvantage.

“Of course she isn’t,” The Handler agreed, rather condescendingly, “she has merely been doing parlor tricks to entertain her simpleton audience, though it seems they are easily impressed. It is often said, after all, that birds of a feather…” she trailed off knowingly.

Five’s eyes narrowed before he could stop them. He didn’t like that she was implying that Dolores was stupid when she _wasn’t_. There was a bigger issue here at stake, though, “I can get her to stop,” he offered instead. If she was getting negative attention… he didn’t even want to think about the resulting consequence.

A cat-like smile spread across the woman’s face, “there’s no need, as long as she continues to make only ripples, not waves.”

Five gave a single nod, “understood.”

“Now, I already have your next mission…”

\--

The one good thing The Commission provided- besides its wide variety of food- were its nice living quarters. After so long of living in a broken library, it was almost _strange_ to be living somewhere that had four walls let alone the basic necessities. Dolores made sure to take advantage of this and, when she wasn’t working, was often found in the shower or cleaning their rooms. For the shower, at least, it seemed like she could never truly wipe away the years of grime that had gotten into every crevice of her skin. Even when she’d turned pink from the scalding heat of the water it still seemed like she could never be _clean enough_ and continued to scrub hard at every pore of her body in an effort to wipe the apocalypse from her body.

As for the cleaning, well, that was her way of coping with the loss of her closest companion. It wasn’t like she could _talk_ to anyone, after all, and she certainly didn’t want to bother Five with something so inconsequential, so she coped by cleaning. Whenever she worried about him, she cleaned. Whenever she was working through the next part of her plan, she cleaned. Whenever she couldn’t stop thinking about her untimely death, she cleaned. It was therapeutic to work her way through the Commission-issued pots and pans, handwashing all of their plates and utensils, polishing the counters until they shone, getting rid of every speck of dust that could exist in their apartments. She’d rather be known for being a neat freak than for someone who couldn’t handle their emotions as well as their husband did.

She was in the middle of shining up their refrigerator when she heard the door to their apartment close. Immediately, she dropped the rag she’d been using and rushed towards the sound. It had been _months_ since she’d last seen Five and now she had something worthwhile to bother him about.

“Five!” the man’s name slipped from her mouth eagerly as she ran towards him, throwing her arms around his frame as she hugged him tightly. As was often the case nowadays, he remained as stiff as a board in her arms, but the gentle sigh that escaped his lips was _almost_ as good as a return of the gesture.

Dolores pulled away from him after awhile of non-response, swallowing the sting of hurt. _She knew he never wanted to be touched right after missions. She’d known that,_ “you’re back,” she said instead, pleased.

The man’s eyes flicked around the spotless apartment, seeming to take it in, but truthfully they were avoiding the woman’s blue gaze, “you’ve been busy.”

The woman tucked a piece of flyaway hair behind her ear, glancing about the apartment, “uh, yeah. Cleaning’s about the only hobby-“

“Not that,” he interrupted her flatly, “you’ve been practicing magic again.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. I have,” she risked a tentative smile, “people really seem to like it, y’know?”

“I want you to stop.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You shouldn’t practice magic anymore,” he repeated, his eyes straying to somewhere over her shoulder, “The Handler, she’s noticed. I thought you wanted to fly under the radar.”

“Well- well I _did_ , but then I came up with this plan where-“

“No one asked you to come up with a plan,” he cut across her, “I’m handling it. I’ve been working on the equations and I’ve almost figured it out.”

“But I can _help_ ,” Dolores started, reaching towards him. She stopped when he dodged her and took several steps back.

“Just- just lay low, okay? I can’t afford to worry about you while I’m on the job. Just keep your head down and everyone will forget, in time,” he told her.

The man’s voice sounded hollow and distant and Dolores knew that wherever _her_ Five went, he was slipping away again, “I’m going to take a shower, we can talk about this later,” he finished.

Dolores’ hands balled into fists, her anger rising to the surface so suddenly that she couldn't stop it from spilling out as she crossed the room in several long strides and barred the way to the bathroom, “no, we _won’t_ ,” she snapped, “because after you take your shower, you’ll go down to the cafeteria and have your coffee. You’ll stay there until I fall asleep, or try to, at least. Then you’ll come back up here and work on your equations. The only time you _ever_ talk to me now is when you first get back and you _always_ say we’ll talk later, but we don’t!”

Five seemed unfazed by her sudden outburst and took a step forward, “get out of the way, Dolores,” he said firmly, using her full name, “I really don’t have the patience for this right now.”

“Well, bully for you, then! All I’ve _been_ is patient. I’ve waited for you to tell me what’s going on. I’ve waited for you to answer after I ask if you’re okay, which I know you’re not. I’ve waited for you to come back. I’ve _tried_ to help you but you just won’t let me!”

“I don’t need help,” he said firmly, “I’m dealing with it, I’ve told you. Now let me by.”

“No,” the woman responded in the same tone.

The man’s eyes narrowed, “let me by, Dolores.”

She raised her chin and tried to look him in the eye, but his quickly flicked away again, “would it kill you to let someone care about you?” she asked plainly, “you don’t have to handle everything yourself. It’s been a _year_ and this is the longest conversation we’ve had, though I’d hardly call it that.”

He took another step forward, his expression impatient and the woman scoffed, “what are you gonna do? I’m not gonna move."

There was a bright flash of light and the man reappeared in the hallway, “dammit, Five!”

She rolled her eyes, undeterred as she followed him to their ‘shared’ room, “if you think you getting undressed is gonna stop me from talking to you, well too bad. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” she followed him back out once he’d gathered his clothes, “we are going to _talk_ about this. I’m tired of you shutting me out, Five!”

The man paused at the door to the bathroom and turned, finally, _finally_ meeting her eyes with a look so full of regret it took her breath away, “do you think I _like_ shutting you out, Dolly?” he asked, his quiet voice almost _worse_ than his firm one, “I wouldn’t do it unless I had a very good reason. And- and I’m just asking you to trust me on this, okay?” almost as quickly as they’d met her gaze, his eyes moved to some point over her shoulder.

A part of her wanted to be petty and respond _I don’t know if I can_ in an effort to snap him out of it. It was an answer that would do more harm than good, though, and she swallowed the response back, “I- I do, but-“ the rest of her reply was cut off by Five shutting the bathroom door in her face.

The woman closed her eyes and sighed, pressing her palm against the expanse of wood as she rested her forehead against the smooth surface. On the other side, Five had dropped the bundle of clothes and mirrored her. _She trusted him even when he could barely trust himself._ Quietly, the man murmured, “ _I love you._ ”

He needn’t have worried about being heard, though.

Dolores was already gone.

\--

The next time she saw him was several months later.

Despite her irritation with his… _demand,_ the woman had kept her magic tricks to herself and made up excuses when people asked her about them. She’d gotten what she needed, after all, and she didn’t need to do them anymore, even if talking to people had been _her_ sort of super power.

Instead, she spent her time trying to figure out how to break through the walls Five had built around himself. They were even stronger than when they’d landed in the apocalypse and she’d barely needed any effort to pull them down. Now, even _she_ couldn’t get through to him.

It had been a rough night last night, the compressing feeling darkness brought had been heavier than usual and she’d been in a fog all day. Now she sat on the stool in the kitchen, half-bent as she tried to let the coolness of the stone clear her head as her thoughts swirled. Five’s face was most prominent among them and she could see the expression he’d worn after the very first mission all too well. He’d flinched each time she’d touched him, no matter how many times she told him she loved him. He’d only withdrawn from her further after that and her heart ached for the boy- the man- she’d grown to love. A part of her couldn’t believe she _missed_ his pompous assholery but anything was better than _this_.

She was so deep in thought that she missed the sound of the door opening and the man dropping his non-time-travelling briefcase on the floor next to the door. She didn’t even hear the sound of his footsteps or how they stilled at the sight of her bent over the kitchen counter until the man asked “Dolly?”

She lifted her head and blinked several times, “Fives?”

He walked over to her slowly and placed a careful, light hand on her back, “are- are you okay?” there was an obvious note of worry in his voice, “is- is it your time of the month?”

“What?”

“You know…” he trailed off and gestured downward.

“Oh, uh, no. Just- nothing,” she finished, unwilling to tell him about the recent up crop of nightmares.

His eyes narrowed and then he frowned, “are- are you _crying_?”

“What?” she exclaimed, hastily bringing a hand to her face and startling slightly as she realized it was _wet_. She quickly wiped away the tears, “no, no, of course not. I- um, just cleaned the counter and it was a bit wet, so I guess it hadn’t dried yet. Oops,” she tried to laugh it off but the sound was hollow and unconvincing, even in her ears.

She glanced up at him and saw his white eyebrows furrow in concern, the sharp, green eyes that never missed anything flick over her face, “you can tell me if something’s wrong, you know that, right?”

“Just like you’d tell me if something was wrong?” she asked bitterly.

“Dolly-“

“Don’t ‘Dolly’ me, Five. I’m honestly not in the mood for it,” Dolores said flatly.

He slumped slightly, though she didn’t see it, “right. I’ll- I’ll go take a shower, then.”

He moved off, down the hall. Dolores turned slightly to watch him go when a dawning sense of terror over took her. She wasn’t sure what it was, what caused it, but something, _something_ told her that if she didn’t go after him _right now_ , they’d never- _never-_ she’d-. The woman stumbled out of her chair, knocking it down in her haste as she scrambled after him, “Five! Five, wait!” she cried frantically, running down the hall.

The man paused in the doorway and turned to give her a worried look, “Do-“ he started, but didn’t get to finish.

The woman grasped the lapels of his jacket and yanked him towards her so she could slam her lips to his. He startled, understandably, and all but forced himself not to kiss her back. She didn’t _care_ and continued to move her lips against his, her grip tightening in the fabric until she felt his hands come to rest gently on her waist as he tugged her closer to him. It was then that he began to respond, kissing her back far more tentatively until his force of will caved to his desire for her. He guided her back towards the bed but she pulled away- though not completely- before they could get there.

“Don’t you get it, you stupid, _stupid_ man?” she asked breathlessly, “I love you. Nothing, _nothing_ can ever change that. You could be the one to end the world and I’d _still_ love you. I don’t care what you do because- because you’re- you’re _my_ Five, and when I said ‘’till death do us part,’ I _meant_ it.”

“I meant it, too,” Five answered softly, “and I would never want you to think I didn’t. I just- you deserve better than me, Dolly. Only an incredibly stupid person would want to chose me over a better man.”

“Well, than I must be incredibly stupid,” Dolores said firmly, “because in my opinion, no one can even hold a candle to you.”

He closed his eyes, unwilling to see how strongly she believed what she said, “I’m not _good_ , Dolly. I’ve- I’ve killed more people than I can count. Some days the voice in my head doesn’t sound like me at all-“

“Bullshit,” the word made him open his eyes again and he saw the ferocity in her deep blue eyes, “Five, there are no bad or good people in this world, just people minding their business and going about their lives. This-" she gestured around the room to indicate The Commission, "it’s what we have to do to save the world. And you _are_ you. No one, not even this terrible place, can take that away.”

\--

“Why did you do it, Dolly?” Five asked later as they lay in bed together.

“Do what?” the woman murmured sleepily as she curled her arms around his waist.

“The magic tricks. Getting attention went completely against your plan of lying low,” he reminded her, running his fingers through her soft white hair.

She sighed, her breath a gentle exhale against his chest, “I wanted to be special,” she admitted quietly.

He frowned, “but you are special.”

“Not like you. You’ve got superpowers and you’re a certified genius. Everybody’s impressed with you even if they’ve never even met you. I’ve got no superpowers and, well, I’m not _stupid_ , but I’m not… I’m not like you. Dot didn’t even know for sure if we were married. It’s stupid, I know. I shouldn’t even be worried about what everyone here thinks of me, but I just- I just wanted to be able to measure up,” she finished. It was the least of all her problems and it sounded incredibly cringe-y when she said it out loud, but it was better than telling him the full truth: she'd _failed_.

“Oh, Dolly,” the man murmured, “you already _do_ measure up. You’ve survived an apocalypse, for heaven’s sake. If that’s not enough, you’ve put up with me for thirty years. I’d say that’s an accomplishment in and of itself-“

“But I wanted to be _known_ for something, like you are,” she paused, realizing what she said, “not- not like _that_ , but for the good things. People respect you.”

“They fear me,” he corrected her.

“'It is better to be feared than loved,’” she quoted, causing him to smile reluctantly.

“Machiavelli? Really?”

“I thought it was fitting,” she said with a shrug, “and you, Five Hargreeves, are lucky to be both,” she propped herself up to press a kiss to his lips. 


	26. Hope is a Four-Letter Word

Words had always been Dolores’ weapon of choice. She’d had an affinity for them since the moment she could talk and the connection had only grown stronger once she learned how to read and write. For a girl born without superpowers, she was very lucky to be blessed with two (and a half), though ‘normal’ superheroes would not consider her talents _true_ superpowers.

Her uncle had understood this kinship and made every effort to encourage it, having some idea of what the girl would go through to know she would need the comfort of something never-changing. He’d created her favorite word game out of boredom, not knowing then that it would lead to the burgeoning feelings of friendship between the last two survivors of the world (or, perhaps, he had.)

There was a certain power to words that superseded any sort of traditional superhero gift. They created imaginary worlds and fictional characters that one could grow to love. They could make you feel things, both good and bad. They could start wars and make peace. They could connect people all around the globe. Dolores understood this power and used it to her advantage, wielding her words better than any marksman. If she truly tried, she could always, _always_ get her way.

It was this gift that she put to use after several years of working with The Commission. During the entire time she’d been an employee, she’d been a diligent worker and made very few ripples apart from her magic tricks. She was helpful to her coworkers and ingratiated herself into the Case Management office, often helping others on their cases whenever they were stuck. It had taken time for her to get adjusted but now she blended in so well to the community that many people couldn’t remember what it was like before she arrived.

Another gift she used was patience. She had what seemed like an infinite amount of it. She’d had enough to ‘put up’ with Five for thirty years. She had enough to quietly bide her time before she got him to cave after their first year. She had enough to know when to play her cards right and now was the time to strike.

If Five was impulsive then she was resolute. It was one of the many things that made them a perfect balance.

“Two thousand eight Obama catchword.”

“What?”

Dolores looked up from the paper she had spread out in front of her, “crossword puzzle clue,” she explained, “two thousand eight Obama catchword, four letters.”

“Obama?” Five asked, his expression puzzled.

The woman groaned, “I keep forgetting that you were born before me. He was the president in two thousand eight,” she explained, “after you time travelled.”

“Oh. Well, I wouldn’t know the answer, if you were asking that.”

She rolled her eyes, “well, I know that _now,_ ” she sighed, “I’ll figure it out later. You should get this one. _Wedding vow._ Five letters,” she chuckled slightly.

“You know I’m busy, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Your equations are probably wrong anyway. Just help me finish this, I’ve only got a few clues left.”

“Whatever,” the man grumbled, closing the top of the notebook with a _snap_ , “fine. Tell me what it is again?”

“Wedding vow, five letters.”

“Honor. I can’t believe you need my help with that.”

She rolled her eyes as she scribbled in the answer, “alright, next is _plant study_. Oh, I know that one, Botany. Alright, four down…”

They continued to work on the puzzle until she glanced up and saw that it was almost twelve o’clock, “oh, shoot. I’m going to be late!”

“Late for what?”

“I’ve got a meeting,” the woman answered absentmindedly as she folded her newspaper up.

“A meeting?” Five repeated, “Dolly, what are you talking about?”

She slowed her movements and looked over at him, “I’m going to ask for some time off. According to The Commission’s handbook, chapter thirty-five, subsection two a, after an employee works for two years, they can request a week off in a time and place of their choice. Then in another two years, they can ask again. Even if your equations aren’t one hundred percent correct, you’ve been saying that you’ve got it for a few weeks now. Remember that day when you were so excited-“

“Yeah, I know,” he cut her off, his face turning pink at the reminder, “but how are we going to leave? I know we’ve talked about it, but I have a mission in a few days-“

“Which is perfect,” she interrupted _him_ now, “I’ll request Dallas, Texas, nineteen-sixty-two as my vacation place. We’ll pretend to run into each other and leave from there. It’ll take longer for The Commission to find us.”

His expression hardened, “you know how I feel about you seeing me on the job.”

“But there won’t _be_ a job since we’ll leave before you do it. Look, I’ve already made up my mind and I’m going to be late. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know that, right?”

\--

“This is a terrible idea,” Five announced as they pushed open the door to the Irish pub.

Dolores grinned, “if _you’re_ saying that, then it really must be. Come on, old man, lighten up.”

The pair made their way to the bar where they occupied two stools, “if I’m old, you’re ancient.”

With the weight of The Commission gone, with the promise of everything they’d worked so hard for right at their fingertips, the woman felt almost _giddy_ and she couldn’t stop the giggle from slipping out of her mouth, “is that any way to talk to someone you love? Besides, I’m younger than you.”

The man rolled his eyes as they called the bartender over, “at least I’m older and wiser.”

“What are you, a Nazi-party supporter from Austria trying to woo me?” Dolores teased him, causing the man’s brows to furrow. She sighed, “ _Sound of Music_ reference. Never mind. Speaking of things you don’t know…” she pulled out her newspaper from the shoulder bag she carried.

“You still haven’t solved that thing?” Five asked after he’d ordered two beers for them.

“Nope, stuck on that Obama clue, though now I know it starts with an ‘H.’”

“Well, no one here can help you with that.”

“Really? I had no idea,” the woman responded sarcastically, “I was gonna ask JFK the next time I saw him.”

“Good luck with that,” the man said dryly, taking a sip from his drink.

“Whatever. Can I take a look at those equations?”

“Fine,” he huffed, “but I’m pretty sure they’re right this time.”

“Famous last words,” she answered with a grin, flipping the worn notebook open as she began with the first line, checking for any inconsistencies.

She spent the next half-hour methodically looking through the lines of handwriting as the print slowly got more cramped on the page. She periodically scribbled out a negative that had been incorrectly carried or added a decimal point that had been forgotten. As she got to the last few pages, her frown deepened as she saw the number _5.7_ reappear frequently.

“Hey, Fives?”

“Yeah?”

“Here, are you sure you meant this number?” she pointed to the figure.

He peered over her shoulder to see what she was pointing at, “yeah, of course I did.”

“Well, it just seems like it’s a bit… big. You’ve been using a lot of decimals. I think it’s wrong.”

“It’s right,” he insisted, “I think I know how my equations work.”

“Right, just like you knew the first time,” she sassed, “I’m just making sure we’ve got the right pattern. You’ve barely used any whole numbers.”

“It’s not a whole number,” he pointed out obstinately, “it’s a decimal fraction.”

“The equation is wrong,” she insisted, “but fine, it’ll just be another thing I can laugh at you for.”

They spent another half-hour at the noisy pub talking in short spurts but mostly just enjoying each other’s company. They’d come a long way from their first year at The Commission and Dolores had done her best to not worry _as_ much (she’d always worry about the man she loved, though) and they’d recovered from their setback, though both had changed from the people they’d originally been.

With a sigh, Five stood from the bar and offered a hand to the woman next to him who took it with a soft smile, intertwining their fingers together. He waited with nearly bated breath for her tradition, and then- _one, two, three._ There it was. He still had no idea why she felt compelled to do that, but he’d grown to expect it so much that he now worried when she didn’t do it right away. It had always felt odd, at least when they’d held hands, to not respond in kind, so he repeated the three squeezes back to her, causing the woman to give him a loving look.

He straightened under the tender expression and bent quickly to pick up his briefcases in an effort to hide the pink that had crept up his face. Even after all these years, he still wasn’t used to how she looked at him (even if he looked at _her_ the same exact way.)

Together, they walked to the spot where Five had planned to fulfill his mission, though the end goal was now compromised.

Dolores sighed as they walked down the street, watching the excited people bustle past, “do you ever wonder what it might’ve been like to have a normal life?”

Then, she and Five answered the question in unison, “no,” he glanced at her with an amused smile, “I think we’ve been spending too much time together.”

She rolled her eyes, “yeah, and if you keep bothering me I’m going to ask for a divorce one day.”

“Mmm, yes and I was responsible for Princess Diana’s death and pigs will fly.”

He ducked as she aimed three hits to his arm, “ _one_ of those is actually true, you idiot,” she huffed, hoping that turning his words into a joke wouldn’t ruin the mood.

“Just like we’ve been spending too much time together,” he said, brushing past her comment, “come on, we’re going to be late.”

“I am never late and never early. I always arrive exactly when I mean to.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how time works.”

Dolores grinned, “ _Lord of the Rings_ reference. I’m on a roll today!”

“One day you’re going to have to catch me up on everything I’ve missed,” Five remarked.

“I kind of like knowing more than you do about something,” she said with a smirk.

“And I don’t. After we save the world, you’re going to show me these movies we’re talking about, including that president.”

“Oh yeah? And what would make me do that?”

He turned and pulled her closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips that lasted several long moments. When he pulled away again, she couldn’t stop the _genuine_ smile that tugged on her lips, “that’ll do it,” she agreed.

They finally arrived at the fence that separated the parking lot from the road and Five set his briefcases down. Dolores handed him the notebook so he could review his equations one last time and stepped up to the barrier to peer above it, hoping to catch a glimpse of the historic moment before they had to leave.

“Dolly,” he called over to her, shutting the notebook. He had Vanya’s book with the copied equations stored in his coat pocket and he handed the larger book over to the woman.

“Is it time?” she asked, her grip tightening on the worn, spiral-bound pages. Now that they were actually going to _attempt_ this, she couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous.

“Yeah,” Five said with a nod, bringing his hands up and balling them into fists.

She moved closer to him, though careful not to touch him just yet so she wouldn’t disturb his focus. As blue began to glow around his clenched hands, she couldn’t help but feel awe at the sight of the power. Even if she _had_ time-traveled before, he’d never created a portal like this. It grew in size in front of them, a separate entity of its own.

The glow left his hands as the portal remained intact, wind buffeting them from the power that crackled around them. He took several steps forward before noticing that Dolores stood stock-still, clutching the notebook tightly in her hands. His heart rate increased at the sight of her worried expression. _He couldn’t afford to leave her behind._

“Dolly!” he called to her, causing the woman’s gaze to snap to his and he reached out his arm “take my hand!”

Tentatively, she stepped forward and grasped his fingers with hers, the hold emboldening her so that she straightened, “we’ll make it?” she asked above the noise.

“I swear!” he promised with a nod.

Together, they stepped towards the portal until the blue completely surrounded them. The noise dulled similarly to being submerged in water and Dolores closed her eyes as they waded through time.

_With the apocalypse right around the corner, they would truly be livin’ on a prayer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! 
> 
> When I first started writing this, I half-expected it to turn into an abandoned work like my other TUA book on this site. Amazingly, it's now my first-completed, most original work and there's only two reasons for this: one, self-motivation for continuing the plot with scenes I was excited to write and two: the comments I got from you guys. 
> 
> Seriously, I don't think I could've completed this without being excited for your feedback each week. Seeing the comments come into my inbox was probably 75% of my inspiration for finishing this part of the series. All of your kind words helped me push through the harder weeks when I lost the excitement to write and helped me gain it back. I couldn't have done it without you, so thank you. You will probably never know what all of your words mean to me. 
> 
> This is, (probably) obviously the last update until next week where we will start on S1. The new title will be _Livin' on a Prayer_ and I hope to see everyone there! 
> 
> Again, thank you so much to everyone who has read and/or commented on this story.


	27. Announcement

Hi guys! 

I hope you all are having a great holiday season! This isn't an update (since the book is finished, obviously) but an announcement. 

The second book, _Livin' On a Prayer,_ is up and running. It's been a few weeks since I posted the first chapter and I've noticed that while some frequent commenters have transferred over, I haven't seen _everybody_. Of course, I completely understand if you're not interested in continuing to read the series and want to stop at the first part- or if real life is getting in the way- but I thought I'd let everyone know here in case they aren't subscribed to the series itself or to me, since quite a few of you still follow this book. 

So, yeah. That's all I wanted to say- I just wanted to make sure everyone from here knew the series has already continued and three chapters are currently up. I'll be writing the fourth this weekend :) 

( **Note:** I'll be deleting this chapter around this time in one week. I know Author's-notes-as-chapters are super annoying, but luckily I come bringing good news and not bad!) 


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